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APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



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APPLETONS' 



SUMMEE BOOK 




FOR THE SEASIDE, THE FOREST, THE CAMP, THE TRAIN, THE STEAMBOAT, 
THE ARBOR, AND THE WATERING-PLACE. 

NEW YOKK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1, 3, & 5 BOND STREET. 

1880. 



•Ms 



COPYRIGHT BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 

1880. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

OuK Summer Pleasure-Places 0. B. Biince 1 

Illustrations : On the Eastern Shore ; Cliffs at Mount Desert ; the Isles of Shoals ; Cliffs, Portland 
Harbor ; Scenes on Lake George ; Lake Champlain ; Lake Memphremagog ; Scenes at Newport ; the 
Beach at Long Branch ; Lake Erie ; a " Carry " in the Adirondacks ; the Catskill Mountain House ; 
Catskill Mountains ; Corduroy Bridge, Mount Mansfield Road ; Mount Holyoke ; Scenes in Saratoga ; 
Eocks at Mackinac. 

Wonders of the Shore 16 

Illustrations : Anemones, or Sea-Flowers ; Hermit-Crab with Sea- Anemone on its Shell ; Cluster of 
Coral-Polyps; Star- Fish on a Eock ; Serpent, or Brittle Star-Fish; Sea-Egg, or Sea-Urchin; Sea- 
Urchins lodged in the Eocks they have excavated; Sea-Cucumber; Living Hydrozoa; Dancing 
Scallops ; Crab eating a Clam ; The Decorator. 

Trout-Fishing 25 

Bird-Shooting on the Coast of N"ew Jersey 28 

Illustrations : Bird-Shooting in Absecum Creek ; Curlew-Shooting ; After Eeed-Birds ; Shooting 
Eobin-breasted Snipe ; Meadow-Larks near Tuckerton ; The Hunter ; The Knowing One. 

Air-Painting 33 

The Honters' Keturn George Cooper. 34 

With an Illustration. 

A Miniature Marine Aquarium. 35 

Illustrations : Marine Tank, Front View ; Marine Tank, Side View. 

How to make an Herbarium 37 

About Fishing : Trout-fishing, Bass-fishing, Blue-fishing, Salmon-fishing, Cod-fishing 

Barnet Phillips. 38 
Illustrations : Bass-fishing in Rapids at Hell-Gate ; Trolling for Blue-fish ; Salmon-fishing in Cana- 
da; Cod-fishing. 

A Trip up the Hudson C. ff. Jones. 45 

Illustrations : Day-Boat on the Hudson ; Palisades and Palisade Mountain House ; Palisades above 
Nyack, with Distant View of Sing Sing; Croton Point; Entrance to the Highlands ; West Point; 
Cro' Nest and Storm- King Mountains, from Cold Spring ; The Catskill Mountains ; Source of the 
Hudson. 

The Thousand Islands As seen ly an Englishman. 54 

With an Illustration. 



iv CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



The Birds of the Beookside Ernest Ingeraoll. 61 

With an Illustration. 

Vacations in Colorado W. H. Kideing. 66 

Illusteations : A Glimpse of Denver ; Monument Park ; Tower of Babel, Garden of the Gods ; Major 
Dome, Glen Eyrie ; Eainbow Falls, Ute Pass ; Clear Creek Canon ; Grey's Peak ; Idaho Springs. 

The Strawberry -Pickers. (Selection from " Alice of Monmouth.'') E. C. Stedman. 76 

With an Illustration. 

How TO preserve Autumn Leaves ' YV 

New Haven Sketches : I. West Rock and its Environs ; II. East Rock . . . George T. Ferris. 78 

Illustrations : West Eock ; West Beach ; East Eock ; Old Fort, New Haven Harbor. 

Witch-Hazel. a Sonnet E. T. I. 86 

Mountain-Climbing , 86 

Summer Pictures 0. B. Bunce. 87 

Illustrations: A Nook on the Shore; An Artist in the Country ; Under the Cedar-Tree ; "Fancy 
Free " ; A Picnic at the Isles of Shoals ; " All in the gay and golden weather." 

The Skies. A Poem ' George Edgar Montgommery. 94 

" Camping Out." E. R. Bowler. 95 

With an Illustration. 

Alone by the Sea A Poem from RucTcert. 99 

Blake's Ferry. A Story J. T. McKay. 100 

The Pine-Root Fence. A Poem Alfred B. Street. 110 

Holidays off the Beaten Path W. H. Rideing. 110 

How I dined on the Boulevard des Italiens Niigent Rdhiniion. 117" 

Taking the Blue Ribbon at the County Fair Charles E. Craddock. 124 

A "Western Adventure G. H. Jones. 133 

Life on a California Ranch 137' 

Dogs I have Known and Loved By a Lady. 140 

Fifth Avenue on an August Night. (Illustration.) 145 

New York at the Seaside. (Illustration.) 144 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 




On the Eastern Shore. 



SO various in character and large in num- 
ber have become the places to which 
we resort for recreation and rest during the 
summer solstice that many books have to be 
written to suitably set them forth.* How, as 
one turns over the pages of some of these cap- 
tivating volumes, he ever succeeds in deter- 
mining which of the thousand claimants up- 
on his attention shall give him the benefit of 
its freshening airs, is puzzling to understand. 
And, even if the indefatigable summer pleas- 
ure-seeker resolves to enjoy them all succes- 
sively in turn, he must depend upon the years 

* Appletons' Hand-book of Summer Resorts. Illus- 
trated. 8vo. Paper. New York : D. Appleton & Co. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



of a centenarian to accomplish his purpose. 
The dozen or so leading " resorts " are, of course, 
quickly compassed ; but the ambitious youth who 
thinks to carry his knapsack into all the places 
that parade large hotels, or rejoice in a moun- 
tain, a glen, a trout-stream, a lake, or a prospect, 
little knows the legion that awaits his coming. 

Nature has certainly done wonders for us in 
the way of glorious scenery and inviting sheets 
of water; when man has effectually done his 
part in the hotels that he sets up and the loco- 



motion he provides, the summer resorts of Amer- 
ica will be endeared to every heart as so many 
happy paradises. 

Their variety is fairly endless. They skirt 
our sea-border ; they nestle among our hills and 
mountains ; they line our river-courses ; they 
take possession of our islands; they make gay 
our lakes; they hang over our glens and cas- 
cades ; they marshal in all places that have a 
natural grace. The weary town-worker who 
pants for green hills and shady dells, or longs for 




Cliffs at Mount Desert. 



the tonic of tumbling sea-waves, may find his 
health-giving rest at any point to which he may 
turn. 

Away on the coast of Maine are many notable 
places. First, on its remotest border, and with- 
out its dominion, is the island of Grand Manan, 
the home of fishermen and sea-fowl, with rugged 
and towering cliffs, and rude, primitive life, but 
with every condition to attract the artist, the 
sportsman, and the adventurer. It is not easy of 
access, being reached only by fishing-vessels from 
Eastport ; but this may prove its chief attraction 



in the estimation of some tourists. Its cliffs are 
the highest on our shore, rising four hundred 
feet; and altogether it is a wild, weird place, 
the home of storms and fogs, a favorite summer 
haunt of the artist, and the " very theme of 
the bold and romantic." Nearer than Grand 
Manan, and with some of its characteristics, is 
Mount Desert, also an island, lying a little over a 
hundred miles from Portland, in Frenchman's 
Bay. As it has an area of a hundred square 
miles, its separation from the main shore implies 
no unpleasant limitation of space. Mount Desert 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 




The Isles of Shoals. 



is girdled by cliflEs and crowned with mountains, [ the latter come down to the sea. The resources 
the only instance on our Atlantic shore in which | for the pleasure-seeker are therefore many : 



t^^^l. - z. 




Cliffs, Portland Harbor. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



there are fine sheets of water for boating, and ] down by the elements into a chaos of titanic 



excellent marine fishing; the mountain-paths on 
the island are wooded and picturesque ; and the 
sea-cliffs, cut by the tireless waves into many 
fantastic forms, hewed out into caves, shaped 
into obelisks and columns, and sometimes dragged 



blocks, supply an endless variety of picturesque 
objects. The only drawback is the lack of surf- 
bathing. 

From Mount Desert all the way to Cape Cod 
are innumerable places to charm the lover of the 




Scenes on Lake George. 



seashore. Oasco Bay, on the southwest extrem- 
ity of which stands Portland, the commercial 
metropolis of Maine, is one of the most pictu- 
resque on the coast. Like Lake Winnepesaukee, 
it is popularly supposed to contain 365 islands, 
and its green archipelago abounds in good fish- 
ing-places, in charming picnic resorts, and in 
snug, solitude-haunted retreats. On the larger 
islands are spacious summer hotels, and Portland 
itself looms beautiful from the water, rising in 
terraced lines along its hills. South of the har- 
bor the surf-beaten promontory of Cape Eliza- 
beth projects its rugged cliffs into the ocean ; 
and southward of this, stretching away toward 
quaint old Portsmouth, are Old Orchard Beach, 
the most frequented and fashionable in New 
England, after Swampscott and Rye, Wells 



Beach, covered with snipe and curlew, and a 
great rendezvous for sportsmen, and the long 
Ogunquit Beach, between which and York Beach 
is the remarkable rocky promontory known as 
Bald Head Cliff. 

Twelve miles off from Portsmouth are the 
famous Isles of Shoals, a sea-girt group of little 
islands furnished with good hotels, where one 
may fancy himself, even when upon the firm-set 
earth, far out on the bounding ocean. Here all 
the air is salt ; the sea-spray moistens the beard 
and hair ; and one sleeps to the nmrmuring of 
the waves. One who would forget the turmoil, 
the parched highways, and the dust-laden airs of 
the land, can at the Isles of Shoals isolate him- 
self from all past experience, and with every 
breath inhale fresh sensations of pleasure. 



OUE SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 



But the Eastern shore abounds with places 
that allure the summer traveler. The shore in- 
termingles beach with rocks, so that with fine 
bathing-places are many curious rocks with their 
weather-worn surfaces, and caverns and caves 
with their wealth of strange marine life. Rye 
Beach, Hampton Beach, and Salisbury Beach, 
levies each its annual tribute of pleasure-seekers ; 
there are the fashionable resorts of Swampscott 
and Nahant ; the quaint old fishing-towns of 
Marblehead and Gloucester ; Newburyport, with 
its relics and mementos of a former maritime im- 
portance, now lost; and Salem, with its haunting 
associations of the witchcraft delusions — in fact, 
this entire shore is replete with vai'ied beauty, 
full of historic interest, and a tourist might with 
vast delight and pleasure spend a long summer 
upon its sea-beaten rocks and in its antique towns. 

But we have as yet only begun to enumerate 
all the seaside resorts. Tlie breezes and quaint 
places about Cape Cod are not to be forgotten : 
the superb Martha's Vineyard far down Buz- 
zard's Bay, where throngs of visitors crowd the 
spacious hotels, and where the Methodists con- 
gregate every summer in vast numbers for camp- 
meeting purposes, has all the salt savor of a sea- 
surrounded place ; and Nantucket, some thirty 
miles farther out in the Atlantic, we all know as 
once a great whaling-place, but still retaining, 
amid the stimulating bustle of a growing popular 
resort, the quaint characteristics of an isolated 
people accustomed to go down to the sea in 
ships. Here come now every season the lovers 
of shark-fishing, rapidly becoming a favorite pas- 



time for those who love robust and exciting 
sports. 

From Nantucket and the Vineyard, a short 
excursion westward toward the mainland brings 
us to the spacious Narragansett Bay, in a pictu- 
resque nook of which nestles Newport, "the 
Queen of American watering-places," the most 
select and exclusive of summer resorts, the most 
interesting for its historic and personal associa- 
tions, and one of the most charming for its sce- 
nery. At the mouth of the bay, and possessing 
one of the finest beaches on the Atlantic coast, 
is Narragansett Pier, another popular watering- 
place ; and thence westward, along the northern 
shore of Long Island Sound, is a fringe of old 
towns, each of which has its clientele of summer 
visitors, and all of which are too well known to 
require mention. 

Off the mouth of Narragansett Bay, full amid 
the ocean-surges, lies Block Island, favorite of 
many ; and then comes the eastern portion of 
Long Island, where we cease to find rocks, but 
instead conglomerate cliflFs of pebbles and sand. 
Long Island ends in two spreading prongs, be- 
tween which lies the superb Peconic Bay, a no- 
ble sheet of water, capitally adapted for boating 
and fishing. At the inland boundary of the bay 
is Shelter Island, where the land rises to fine 
wooded hills, and where recently large hotels 
have gone up. Sag Harbor is an old whaling- 
town ; Greenport is a new, green, shaded village 
on the northern prong, inhabited by prosperous 
fishermen; East Hampton, on the ocean- side, is 
one of the most charming and picturesque vil- 




Lake Champlain. 



lages in the country, to which come every sum- 
mer many lovers of green lanes and rural soli- 
tude. The open downs on eastern Long Island, 
where many cattle are grazed, and over which 
always sweep pleasant breezes from the sea, have 
an indescribable charm. The southern shore of 



the island is protected for long distances by nearly 
continuous ridges of sand-dunes, within which 
are bays admirably suited for boating. Fire Isl- 
and is here, wliere those fond of trolling for 
bluefish come in great numbers. There is no 
scenery but the sand and the ocean ; but sands 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



and sea and boats have an ineffable charm, and 
an ample hotel extends its welcome to the busy 
idlers whose holiday-making must keep them 
within easy reacli of the metropolis. 

Nearer that metropolis, of which it is prac- 
tically a summer suburb, is Rockaway Beach, 
whose arid sand-wastes the enchanted wand of 
capital has transformed into a vast pleasance 
for the pleasure-seeking thousands of the heat- 
ed city. Here spacious hotels and ample eat- 
ing-saloons fling wide their hospitable doors ; 
and here the visitor may enjoy excellent surf- 
bathing on one side of the narrow beach, and 
equally fine still-water bathing on the other, 
where the placid expanse of Jamaica Bay ex- 



tends a perpetual invitation to all who have a 
propensity for boating and yachting. At Coney 
Island, still nearer the city, just outside the en- 
trance of New York Bay, are vast hotels and 
bath-houses, restaurants, pavilions, and prome- 
nades, which offer their competing attractions to 
the visitor. Here the surf-bathiug is unsurpassed ; 
here throughout the summer evenings, the sounds 
of music and revelry are commingled with the 
monotonous refrain of the waves as they trample 
upon the beach ; and here the thronging thou- 
sands constitute in themselves one of the most 
striking features of a spectacle which, as a whole, 
is unequaled on the continent. 

Crossing now the mouth of the beautiful New 




Lake Memphremagog. 



York Bay, and glad of an excuse for avoiding the 
heated and tumultuous city, we reach the shores 
of New Jersey, where Long Branch, Cape May, 
and Atlantic City flourish to the knowledge of 
all tiie world, and woo the attention of those 
gregarious pleasure-seekers whose recreation is 
best appreciated when it is flavored with a spice 
of social excitement. At Barnegat Bay will be 
found the characteristic features that are so at- 
tractive on Long Island ; and in tlie vicinity are 
the favorite haunts of the sportsman. At the High- 
lands, near Long Branch, one may find the sea- 
shore, a picturesque inland river, with fine fishing, 
and high, beautifully-wooded banks— these fea- 
tures not elsewhere coming together on our coast. 



Below New Jersey, the low and storm-fretted 
coasts of Delaware and Maryland present no in- 
ducement to a pause until we enter the ample 
roads where the noble Chesapeake Bay debouch- 
es into the Atlantic. Here, near the entrance to 
the Chesapeake, is Fortress Monroe, or Old Point 
Comfort, w^here there is every facility, we are 
told, for bathing, boating, and fishing, and which 
forms the southern terminus of seacoast places 
visited in the summer season by the Northern 
pleasure-seeker. From the cliffs of Grand Ma- 
nan the distance is some eight hundred miles. 
How varied the scene, how multifarious the pic- 
tures, how abundant the means of pleasure! 
South of Newport, as we have already said, there 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 








Scenes at Newport. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 



9 



are no rocks ; but the shore and the sea, no mat- 
ter what the conditions, have ever a penetrating 
charm. The advance of the waves is life ; a sin- 
gle white sail upon the expanse of water makes 
a picture; the salt savor of the breeze carries 
tinghng pleasure to the veins ; the pebbles upon 
the shore and the strange forms of marine hfe 
that abide under the sand and within the cav- 
erned rocks are full of iuterest; even the old 
wrecks that the sands are ingulfing make fancy- 
kindling pictures. Hundreds of thousands are 
enjoying the scenes; they congregate in vast 
numbers at Cape May, at Long Branch, at Co- 
ney Island, at Rockaway, at Newport, at Swamp- 
scott; they people all the intermediate places, 
hang upon every cliff in Maine, clamber every 
rock and explore every recess on the Eastern 



shore, and their feet press on the sands of Long 
Island and New Jersey — a vast army of votaries 
at the footstool of Old Ocean. 

But the mountains and the lakes press for- 
ward to dispute the supremacy of the sea. They, 
too, can point to their multitudes of pilgrims, of 
those who love the exaltation of the hill-tops, the 
ripple of the lakes, the music of the waterfalls, 
the solitude of the forests, the flowers of the 
meadows, or who come to medicated springs for 
their healing waters. 

In number and measurement the inland places 
greatly outdo those of the shore. They extend 
from the Saguenay and Ottawa of the North to 
the mountains of North Carohna, and reach from 
the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Our space is 
brief, and we can do no better now than cata- 




Lake Erie. 



logue some of their names ; but even the mere 
enumeration of our vast resources of this nature 
excites the imagination. Mere statistics some- 
times have glow and eloquent speech ! Our 
mountains in the far West reach the splendor of 
the Alps; our lakes outnumber those of any oth- 
er land, and some of thejn equal the beauty of 
the Swiss ; our rivers are rivaled only by the 
Rhine and the Danube ; our forests retain their 
primitive supremacy; and scattered everywhere 
are beautiful valleys, sylvan dells, grand cas- 
cades, embowered villages ! The only difficulty 
is, that many of these places can not be reached 
and enjoyed, save with great discomfort. Our ill- 
ballasted railways suflfocate us with dust, and our 
hotels are too often huge barracks, in which the 
art of living has not yet found its best form. 



But let us glance at the more important 
places that iuvite the summer tourist, who has 
come to the wise conclusion that the attrac- 
tions more than counterbalance the discourage- 
ments, and who is willing to place himself on 
more familiar terms with Nature. Far up in 
Maine, on the verge of the great Maine forest, 
is Moosehead Lake, a sheet of water forty miles 
long, in which trout abound. There are good 
hotels here, and the usual accommodations for 
visitors; but some sojourners prefer to taste 
the wilder sweets and more piquant flavor of 
camp-life, and to such the facilities in the way 
of guides and outfit are ample. Mount Kineo 
overhangs the shores of the lake, with a precipi- 
tous front over six hundred feet high. " Those," 
says the author of "Appletons' Hand-book of 



10 



.^^V%i^>il 



■'^ 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK 







<:. 






sifi 






American 
Summer ile- 
soit-.," whobe 
gmddnce we 
]ifi\ e followed 
th roughout, 
"who love the 



\^ 






m 




\ astnesb and 
bolitude o f 
pnine\cil wil- / 
derness, may 
l)ush to the Avestw ardfrom 
Moosehead Lake to the 
Umbagog district, till they 
hear tiie melodious names 
ot the Indian Lakes Moo- 
selncmagunticook, AUe- 
gundabagog, and Welock- 
sebaoook The scenery, 
climate, and game, ri\al 
those ot the Adirondaoks, 
but it 'should be under- 
stood, ho^\e\el, th.it the 
tuuiist who undertakes lo 
penetrate the outlying 
forest and lake region has 
no easy task before him. 
Rugged roads and scant 
physical comforts will not 
be the most severe trial; 

for in many places he will not find a road or I rude skiff over the lakes, and trust to his rifle 
inn at all, but must trudge along on foot, or by | and his rod to supply his larder." This is just 



*'« 



A 'Carry" in the Adirondacks. 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 



11 




those thirsting 
for woodland ad- 
venture It IS 
also said that an 
enjoyable route 
for the adven- 
turer 18 f 1 o m 
Moosehead lake, 
by a two miles' portage, down the 
west blanch of the Penobscot 
Mount Katahdm, the great moun- 
tain of Maine, may be ascended 
from the mei shore 

Still faither west and north, 
just withm the bordeis of the 
great forest region, are the remote 
and romantic Rangeley Lakes, the 
only remaining portion of our 
Eastern States that 'can be truly 
called "the paradise of sports- 
men." The chain known collec- 
tively as " the Rangeley Lakes " 
the picture to fascinate some adventurous spirits, | consists of several distinct lakes, connected by 
and hence we quote it as a tempting bait to all | narrows and streams, extending from the Oquos- 






The Catskill Mountain House. 



12 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



soc or Rangeley Lake to Lake Umbagog, form- 
ing one continuous water-way for a distance 
of nearly fifty miles, embracing eighty square 
miles of water-surface, and abounding in blue- 
back trout and other game-fish. From the cold 
and limpid waters of these lakes trout are 
often taken weighing as much as ten pounds ; 
and in the adjacent forests deer and other game 
reward the efforts of the hunter. 

From Moosehead and Rangeley on our flight 
southward we pause at Lake Winnipesaukee, ly- 
ing just south of the White Mountains, with a 
magnificent outlook on that noble range. Ed- 
ward Everett has left on record the opinion that 
he has seen nowhere abroad a lovelier scene than 
this lake presents. The waters are pure; it is 
dotted with islands, and lofty hills and moun- 
tains close it in ; all charming, but it lacks, at 
least, the snow-capped peaks and the delightful 
villas of the Swiss lakes. Near it is Squam Lake, 
a much smaller but scarcely less beautiful sheet 
of water. Up on the northern border of Ver- 
mont, extending into Canada, is Lake Memphre- 
magog, a superb, mountain-inclosed sheet of wa- 
ter, some thirty miles long. Numerous other 
lakes diversify the surface of the Eastern States, 
but we are on the borders of New York, which 
ought to be called preeminently the Lake State. 
The great Ontario forms a large part of its west- 
ern and northern border ; the superb Champlain 
separates it from Vermont ; and it holds within 
its bosom that gem of all our inland sheets of 
water. Lake George, and the scarcely less beau- 



tiful Cayuga, Seneca, Skaneateles, Canandaigua, 
Otsego, Oneida, Oazenovia, Chautauqua, Mohonk, 
Mahopac, and the several score of lakes that lie 
among the Adirondacks. Singularly enough, our 
lake-region lies wholly in the North and West. 
Neither the AUeghanies of Pennsylvania, the 
Blue Ridge of Virginia, nor the mountains of 
North Carolina and Tennessee, have lakes, pict- 
uresque and beautiful as many of their moun- 
tain-streams are. There is not one of the New 
York lakes that is not a delightful summer place 
for the town-wearied searcher for wholesome air 
and pleasant scenes. A sheet of water would 
seem to be almost indispensable for true beauty 
in a landscape, especially if the view be an ex- 
tensive one. There is always a charm in swift 
streams flowing through shadowed forests; but 
if one emerge upon an open landscape the eye 
searcbes for an expanse of water, and is delight- 
ed in seeing one as it mirrors the hills and for- 
ests that encompass it, reflects tbe blue depths 
and moving clouds of the sky, and holds sus- 
pended upon its surface the oar or the sail of the 
pleasure-seeker. Lake George only lacks the 
white-capped peaks of the Swiss lakes to equal 
them in beauty, if its three hundred or more isl- 
ands are not a feature that more than compen- 
sates. They probably do more than compensate 
those on summer vacations, as they off"er admi- 
rable camping-grounds. To break away from civ- 
ilization and live out-of-doors is one of the in- 
tense desires of many people ; and hence on these 
dry, shaded, breezy islands of Lake George, with 



F-.-^^^=. -^ '^ ?>""* ■^ 




Catskill Mountains. 



glorious hills, charming water expanse, and ex- 
cellent fishing, camp-life abounds and has every 
nomadic felicity. 

To these petit gems stand in contrast the gi- 



gantic lakes of the West. In Lake Erie are the 
Wine Islands, recently become favorite resorts, 
where the life and the scene have their novel 
features, and which are gay with animated groups 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 



13 



of boating and picnic parties. Far up in the 
strait between Lake Huron and Lake Superior 
is Mackinac Island, which is only some three 
miles long, but full of interest. It is an old mili- 
tary post of the United 
States; was originally 
settled by the French ; 
has an antiquated vil- 
lage ; is marked by high 
and picturesque rocks ; 
and the waters that sur- 
round the island are 
■wonderfully clear, and 
teem with fish of deli- 
cious flavor. The fish- 
erman sees the fish toy- 
ing with his bait, and 
the active little Indian 
boys on the piers are 
"always ready to dive 
for any coins the vis- 
itor may throw into the 
water for them. If re- 
port speaks true, this 
is a very gem of an isl- 
and, and, great as the 
distance is, would re- 
ward the summer tour- 
ists that visit it. 

From Mackinac we 
pass to the shores of 
Lake Superior. A 
steamer carries the pas- 
senger over the lake, 
giving him glimpses of 
its bold and striking 
shores ; but, if one 
would enjoy all their 
wild and rugged as- 
pects, he must com- 
mand a vessel tliat will 
land him where he lists. 

Excursions to the Pictured Rocks, and other strik- 
ing features of the southern shore, can be made 
from the town of Marquette ; and the more pict- 
uresque and majestic north shore, more than 
half of which belongs to the Hudson Bay Com- 
pany, whose hunters, trappers, and voyageurs are 
almost its sole frequenters, may be visited dur- 
ing the summer from Duluth or Port Sarnia. 
Lake Superior invites the attention of the ex- 
plorer ; there is the fascination of the dangerous 
and the unknown ; the life is wild, the adven- 
tures racy, the experience exhilarating and health- 
giving. 

And now, as to the mountains. We would 
say nothing of the White Mountains, because 
every one is familiar with them, either by per- 
sonal experience or by description ; nor need 



we dwell upon the Catskills, which come next 
in the affections of tourists and artists. The 
Green Mountains of Vermont are scarcely infe- 
rior to them in altitude, and, as their name im- 




Cord-uroy Bridge, Mount Mansfield Road. 



plies, the vigorous and verdant forests that clothe 
their sides give them supreme beauty. Mount 
Mansfield is the highest; a road from Stowe 
ascends to the top, along which can be noted, 
in the ravines below, grand forests. There is a 
smuggler's notch, similar to the great caverns of 
the West, that is certainly wild . and eminently 
picturesque. In the Catskills, the Clove Road 
is one of the most charming highways in the 
world; High Peak commands a view unsur- 
passed in reach and variety; picturesque roads 
descend in every direction through rugged gorges 
from the plateau to the plains below ; murmur- 
ing trout-streams wind through primeval for- 
ests ; to the west lie the profound glens of Lex- 
ington ; and all through the region are spots im- 
mortalized by the artists. 



14 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



The Adirondacks of recent years have been 
the fascinating theme of all lovers of the wilder- 
ness. People hurry to them by the thousands to 
enjoy a taste of nomadic freedom. The lakes 
are covered by their boats, and the forests that 
border the lakes are animated by their camping- 
grounds. But there are parties who penetrate 
into the interior, put the keels of their boats 
upon fresh waters, and set their feet in places 
where the primitive wilderness has remained un- 
contaminated by the presence of man. Rich in 
adventures, in experience, in life, in health, in 
beauty, are these interior Adirondack journeys; 



and if the labor is sometimes severe — such as a 
"carry" of boats and effects over rugged forest 
passes from one lake to another — still the re- 
wards are manifold. 

Our space is nearly occupied, and yet innu- 
merable places remain to be mentioned. The 
mountains of Pennsylvania are lofty, green, and 
beautiful ; the Upper Susquehanna runs through 
a wild region with many trout-streams, and 
places for the accommodation of anglers ; the 
Alleghanies have their many summer hotels and 
their sequestered retreats ; the Upper Delaware 
is glorious in picturesque beauty, and at the Dela- 




Mount Holyoke, Massachusetts. 



ware Water-Gap there is every charm of river 
and mountain scenery. A little way above it the 
romantic Raymondskill and Sawkill attract the 
angler and the artist. The Connecticut Valley 
has its hundred points of interest ; the Genesee 
flows into Lake Ontario through picturesque 
shores; the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts and 
the valley of the Housatonic wear the crown of 
sylvan beauty; the Hudson, the Highlands of 
which are famous the world over, and whose 
shores are lined with places of wonderful beauty; 
the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence invite 
the dreamer, the poet, and all who love to sit 
contentedly in boats and be wafted amid green- 
fringed isles; the Ottawa and the Saguenay of 



Canada offer stupendous cliffs and somber forests; 
far away in the West are the wonders of the Yo- 
semite, the geysers and waterfalls of the Yellow- 
stone, and the peaks and parks of Colorado ; in 
Virginia lies a picturesque region of mountain- 
springs ; while farther south, in western North 
Carolina, the great Appalachian chain rises to 
heights not attained by any other mountain- 
peaks east of the Mississippi. 

Our seashore, our mountains, our lakes, our 
rivers, as we have seen, are wonderful in beau- 
ty ; and then for scenes of gayety what places 
can excel our Saratoga, the metropolis of water- 
ing-places, to which famous men and brilliant 
women come from every social center ; or Long 



OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 



15 




Scenes in Saratoga. 



16 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




Rocks at Mackinac. 



Branch, that dashing 
summer city on the sea ; 
or Newport, the social 
elegance of which is 
so exclusive ? Infinite 
is the variety ; and 
let us say, finally, that 
it is a mistake to sup- 
pose that our summer 
resorts have not, each 
in its way, a legitimate 
purpose to serve. To 
some brain-fagged men 
the brilliant gayety of 
Saratoga or Long Branch 
is a tonic ; their ideas 
are freshened, and their 
whole nature stimulated 
by this free contact with 
their fellow - beings ; 
with others a watering- 
place only repeats the 
experience of the town, 
and such long for the 
seclusion of the woods, 
the exhilaration of the 
mountains, or the rough 
life of the sea. He must 
be dull of imagination 
or sluggish in his sym- 
pathies who can not find 
in mountain or water- 
ing-place, seashore or 
forest, the place that 
will serve the purpose 
of a summer resort — 
freshness to the mind, 
strength to the body, 
and recreation to the 
whole nature. 



WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 

Oh, what an endless work have I in hand, 
To count the sea's abundant progeny ! 
Whose fruitful seed far passeth those in land, 
And also those which wonne in th' azure sky. 
For much more eath to tell the stars on high, 
Albe they endless seem in estimation. 
Than to recount the sea's posterity; 
So fertile be the floods in generation. 
So huge their numbers, and so numberless their nation. 

—Spenser. 



THE varied attractions which the seashore 
offers to seekers after health and pleasure, 
to those who are getting rid of the " long leisure 
of summer days," to lovers of the majesty and 
the awfulness of the ocean, and to those who, 



like Dr. Syntax, are in search of the picturesque 
— all these attractions have been often enough 
pointed out and emphasized ; but the riches and 
the wonders which it possesses not merely for 
the student of natural history, but for whoever 



WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 



17 



will open his eyes to what almost obtrudes itself 
upon his notice, have hardly as yet been even 
mentioned. Of all the departments of natural 
history there is none more curiously interesting, 
or more inviting to enter upon, than marine 
zoology ; and, while such a portion of it us the 
sojourner at the seaside would care to acquaint 
himself (or herself) with would present scarcely 
any difficulties, there can be no doubt that it will 
furnish a really enjoyable resource to many who 
become fatigued after a time with the vapid 
amusements and dull routine of watering-place 
life. 

This fact has long been understood and ap- 
preciated in England, 
and there are several 
popular and charm- 
ingly written guides 
to the zoology of the 
English coasts ; but 
Mr. W. E. Damon's 
" Companion for the 
Seaside " * is, we be- 
lieve, the first attempt 
that has been made 
to du-ect the attention 
of the non-scientific 
to the more varied 
wonders of our own 
shores. Mr. Damon's 
little book itself 
touches upon only a 
very few of those 
multitudinous forms 
of life which throng 
both the ocean and 
the shore ; and, as we 
can cite but a few 
even of those in- 
stances which he re- 
cords, what we shall 
say in the present ar- 
ticle must be regard- 
ed as merely hints 
or suggestions of the 
exhaustless wonders 
that offer themselves 
to the observer. 

Beginning with those baffling organisms which 
occupy the border-land between the animal and 
vegetable kingdoms, Mr. Damon devotes an in- 
teresting chapter to the anemones, or sea-flowers, 
of which every sea possesses some representatives, 
and which are found upon all our shores, usually 
adhering to rocks, but sometimes attached to 
the timber of our docks. Many of these animal- 

* Ocean Wonders : A Companion for the Seaside. Freely- 
illustrated from Living Objects. By William E. Damon. New 
York : D. Appleton & Co. 
2 



flowers, says Mr. Damon, " rival in beauty the 
choicest treasures of the garden or conservatory. 
But added to their loveliness of form is the supe- 
rior attraction of their vitality ; for these sea- 
flowers are living animals, breathing, eating, di- 
gesting, and capable of changing their forms at 
will. Would not a pink be more curious if it 
could walk? a rose awaken greater interest if it 
could reach after its necessary nourishment, and 
take care of its own buds? Well, this is what 
the flowers of the sea do." 

Some of the anemones are detached, swim- 
ming about freely when undisturbed, and all have 
some capacity for movement ; but the habit of 




Anemones, or Sea-Flowers. 



most is to attach themselves to some firm object, 
as a rock or a section of coral, or the back of a 
crab or other crustacean. " In fact, when free 
they swim backward, and wherever their base 
encounters a firm object, no matter what, there 
they will fix themselves by suction, and as a gen- 
eral rule contentedly remain. There are two 
species, however, which show a marked prefer- 
ence for the back of a crustacean. One is called 
the parasite anemone, and its favorite home is on 
the hard shell of the hermit crab (the Pagurtis 



18 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



Bernhardus) ; and as these crabs are great travel- 
ers, and have the peculiarity of frequently chang- 
ing their residence by taking possession of the 
empty shells of other animals, this parasite anem- 
one is likely to see far more of the world than 
its more modest brethren. There is one other 
genus which cultivates the parasitic habit, the 




Hermit-Crab with Sea-Anemone on its Shell. 

Adamsia, which selects the crab P. Prideauxii 
for its place of abode. This habit is known as 
comraensalism, as they are presumed to dine at 
the same table." 

The sea-flowers differ greatly in size, form, 
and color, and also in special peculiarities of de- 
velopment and function ; so that a large collec- 
tion would have the appearance of an animated 
flower-garden, composed of carnations, china- 
asters, dahlias, daisies, etc. " The beauty of 
many species," says Mr. Damon, "is greatly en- 
hanced by the fact that several colors are com- 
bined in individual specimens. Thus sometimes 
the main body or column will be green with 
white or golden tentacles, and the base buff with 
a pink disk or tips, or crimson with azure sphe- 
roids ; sometimes the whole animal will be of 
one color, varied by different tints and shades. 
Down below, in the caves of the sea, these won- 
derful creatures have for untold ages anticipated 
our modern ' combination-suits,' and have ap- 
peared dressed in all the glory of scarlet and 
gold, pink and gray, blue and white, green and 
crimson ; their exquisite taste always selecting 
accords or pleasing contrasts, and avoiding all 
discordant shades which would clash or 'kill' 
each other, such as we sometimes see in human 
productions." 

The column-shaped body of the anemone is 
soft, but usually tough and tenacious, and con- 
sists of a simple sac or cavity, commonly broad- 
ened at the base and open at the top or mouth. 
The upper chambers of the cavity are prolonged 



into tentacles or feelers which extend in a num- 
ber of rows around the mouth, forming, when 
they are all extended, a beautiful crown. " If 
these tentacles or feelers are touched, or if the 
creature is in any way alarmed, they are instant- 
ly contracted, and all the parts sink down and 
are drawn together into a compact mass. This 
is effected by the exudation of water from the 
cavities or chambers through a series of small 
openings connected with the central cavity. Ex- 
pansion takes place by the reversed action, filling 
these cells with Water." Sometimes the power 
which they possess of altering their shape ap- 
pears to be exercised for the mere pleasure of the 
thing. Now they will contract themselves into 
balls, partially elongated and expanded ; then they 
will stretch out their fringes or tentacles to their 
widest extent, like a polypetalous flower in full 
bloom ; and again they will encircle themselves 
with belts or girdles, drawn more or less tight 
and shifting up and down, involving changes of 
form every minute. 

"In addition to the tentacles," says our au- 
thor, "these curious creatures are armed for at- 
tacking their prey with what we may call fine 
thread-like lassos, of arrow-like sharpness, called 
cnidm (from a Greek word meaning a nettle), 
from which is transmitted a powerful stinging 
and benumbing sensation, deadly to small prey, 
the victim being affected as by a shock of elec- 
tricity. This I know by experience, for, some 
years ago, when in Bermuda, while attempting 
to take a large actinia from a rock, one of these 
soft-looking beauties gave me a shock which dis- 
abled my arm for hours. It will easily be under- 
stood that this concealed battery enables the sea- 
anemones to conquer much larger and stronger 
creatures than they could hold simply by the 
tentacles ; they often seize large shrimps and 
crabs far beyond their own size. Occasionally, 
however, if one of these finds an anemone weak- 
ened from any cause, it will take up a position 
upon the edge of its mouth, keeping it distended, 
and with its claws pluck out the food from the 
victim's sac and appropriate it to its own use. 
Sometimes, when such an attempt is made, a 
combat ensues, and then woe to the marauder if 
he has mistaken the strengtli of the sea-ane- 
mone ! He will surely fall into his own trap." 

Mr. Damon gives much curious and interest- 
ing information about the structure, habits, and 
modes of propagation of the anemones, but for 
further details we must refer the reader to the 
book, only inviting his attention for a moment 
beforehand to the coral, which is closely related 
to the anemone, being placed by naturalists 
in the same group of organisms. Unlike the 
anemones, however, the coral is not distributed 
over every sea, its natural habitat being the 



WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 



19 



warm waters of the tropics ; yet among the dis- 
coveries of our Coast Survey is the fact that 
coral grows on our North Atlantic seaboard. 
One variety, at least, the Astrangia Danae^ has 
been found on the shores of Massachusetts and 
Connecticut ; but these are rare, and the coral is 
seen to advantage only at the Florida Keys, some 
parts of the West Indies, and at the Bernmdas. 

From the earliest times the coral has at- 
tracted the attention of naturalists and travelers. 
The Greeks named it " Daughter of the Sea," 
but do not seem to have investigated its nature 
and mode of growth ; and ever since their time 
the coral has been the subject of a number of 
popular errors — as that it is a vegetable forma- 
tion, and that it is soft while in water and only 
hardens on exposure to air. Mr. Damon re- 
marks that he has heard public speakers, in 
search of an illustration, speak of " the wonder- 
ful lahors of the coral insect " ! and points out 
that in this short statement are involved two 
fundamental errors, the coral-producers being 
neither laborers nor insects. " Their simple and 
sole business," lie says, '■'• is eating ; and that a 
strong stony structure is the result is no more 
creditable to them than it is to a maple-tree 
to secrete sugar, nor does it indicate any more 
effort." 

"Another very common mistake," he adds, 
" is the supposition that they are exceedingly 
minute — even microscopic — in size. This is far 
from being the case. Having had several varie- 
ties under observation in my aquarium for years, 
I can assure the reader that they are not only 
large enough to be plainly seen by the naked 
eye, but that they sometimes elongate them- 
selves nearly an incli above the upper edge of 
their cell, measuring one third of an inch in 
diameter. 

''But some one may ask, 'If the coral-pro- 
ducers are not insects, what are they ? ' We 
answer, mainly polyps, with some hydroids and 
soft mollusks of the lowest class. These are all 
soft-bodied organisms, consisting of many varie- 
ties, having the organic function of secreting car- 
bonate of lime, which, with some other ingre- 
dients, as silica and small portions of sand, com- 
poses the hard substance called coral. 

" The body of the polyp consists of a cylin- 
drical skin, with an inside sac, which is the 
stomach, and is furnished at the top with thread- 
like appendages, with which it draws in its food. 
Whatever it does not wish to retain in the stom- 
ach it rejects by the mouth, having no other 
resource, as the lower end of the polyp is affixed 
to the stony substance. When expanded, these 
thread-like tentacles around the mouth give 
them a flower-like appearance. It is between 
the outer skin and the sac or stomach that the 



limestone is secreted which forms the coral sub- 
stance. 

" It will thus be seen that the polyp does not 
gather or collect from external sources the mate- 
rial of the coral — does not in any correct sense 
work or ' build ' any more than a tree may be 
said to work as it grows into wood. Nature has 



W^' 




Cluster of Coral-Polyps in various stages of expansion. 

simply provided that, in receiving its food, the 
polyp selects from the ingredients of the sea- 
water that which is capable of being reduced by 
simple functional processes into coral ; just as a 
plant selects and secretes from the earth that 
kind of nourishment which makes stems, leaves, 
and buds. 

" Each mature polyp, when fixed in its cell, 
may be considered as resting upon the tombs of 
its ancestors ; and, when it dies, its descendants 
will repeat the process over its remains, and its 
own body, within which its share of coral has 
been secreted, will be the base for a new living 
descendant. . . . 

" The large, massive forms of coral, whether 
of the dome, reef, or tree-like shape, would never 
reach the magnificent proportions that they do 
were it not for that peculiar provision of Nature 
in regard to the zoophytes, of life and death 
both proceeding simultaneously and successively ; 
each, combined and singly, aiding in one and the 
same object. This curious condition of growth 
favors the coral aggregation by allowing the 
living polyp, as it secretes the calcareous matter, 
to mount upward on that which it has already 
secreted and deposited. From the successful 
execution of this ascending process, we are led 
to infer either that the creature has the power 
of indefinite elongation, or that it must desert the 
precipitated portion of the corallum as growth 
proceeds ; and, in fact, this last is what actually 
occurs. In some instances a polyp of only an 
inch in length, and even less, has been found at 
the top of a stem many inches in height; for the 



29 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



whole substance of wliat is called ' living coral ' 
is in reality dead, excepting the extreme surface 
or point of each branch occupied by the little 
animal. The living tissues which once filled the 
cells of the lower portion of the corallum have 
been consumed by natural processes, and have 
disappeared as growth went on above. . . . 

" The final solidification of the coral mass is 
aided by the increased secretion by the polyp 
shortly before its death, filling all the pores 
with this stony matter in proportion as the vital 
tissues occupying them shrink and dwindle. 
This last deposit greatly aids in strengthening 
those tree-like or branched coral growths which, 
though so slender of form, are really very strong." 

When first born the young larvae are worm- 
like in form, and are very agile, darting about in 
all directions, and apparently enjoying them- 
selves greatly. But this life of freedom soon 
comes to an end ; their base becomes attached 
to some stationary object ; and their gay youth 
is exchanged for a sedentary life, with no other 
changes than that of eating and digesting their 
food. "There are few natural objects," says 
Mr. Damon, "more pleasing than an association 
of these corallets ; for, as the polyps rise above 
their cells and extend their fine, long tentacles, 
resembling threads of pure white silk, waving 
them to and fi'o like the radiated petals of a 
fairy-flower swayed by a gentle zephyr, or, again, 
like a minute feather fan slightly concave at the 
edge, they present an exceedingly animated and 
elegant appearance. Sometimes, when nearly 
at rest, and the filaments are more contracted, 
they suggest the appearance of a dense frost set- 
tled upon a bed of moss." 

Next to the anemones in interest and in their 
abundance on our shores are the star-fishes, of 
which the most common variety is called by 
sailors "five-fingered Jack." Says Mr. Damon: 
" One of the most common objects to be met 
with at Newport, Nahant, or almost any point 
along the Massachusetts coast, are the so-called 
'star-fishes,' though, scientifically speaking, they 
are no more fisiies than is a rabbit or a bird; yet, 
for convenience and to save circumlocution, we 
may adopt the popular name in speaking of them. 
At low tide these curious ' stars ' may be seen by 
thousands, sometimes clinging to the rocks, some- 
times on the gravelly bottom, or perhaps attached 
to the sea-weeds." 

In examining one of these " stars," it will be 
found that it has two distinct sides — an upper, 
slightly convex, and an under or oval side. The 
upper is rough and tuberculous; the imder is 
soft, and contains all the vital and locomotory 
organs. The "rays" or fingers are usually on 
the same plane, but the animal has the power of 
raising them so as to progress over obstructions 



which may be in its way. Extending one of 
these rays, it is made fast by suction, while the 
remainder of the body is drawn forward, the 
mode of progression being something like that of 
a ship dragging its anchor. 

As star-fishes are found upon the shore, 
they often appear to be quite dead when they 
are really alive ; they are the opossums of the 
sea. " Take up one of these fellows who is 
lying perfectly still, and put him into fresh sea- 
water, and he will very likely soon be traveling 
about as well as- ever. However, as the dead 
and living, when left stranded by the tide, pre- 
sent so nearly the same appearance, it may be 
well to have some test by which to make sure of 
their true condition. There are two modes of 
ascertaining this with a reasonable degree of cer- 




Star-Fish on a Rock. 

tainty. If, on taking up a star-fish, he hangs 
loose and limp, he is dead ; but, however dead 
he may look, if on touching it there is a firmness 
and consistency in the substance, he is only 
' playing 'possum,' and will revive in the water. 
The other mode of trial is to lay our starry 
friend on his back, when, if he is alive, you will 
soon see a number of semi-transparent globular 
objects beginning to move, reaching this way 
and that, as if feeling for something ; these are 
the locomotory organs or ambulacra, seeking to 
regain their normal position. If there is no 
movement of these, you may conclude that he is 
an extinguished star." 

One of the most interesting traits about this 
lowly-organized creature is the care it bestows 
upon its eggs, which are contained in pouches 
situated at the broad base of the rays. But their 
mode of reproduction is not limited to eggs. 
" They have the strange capacity and frequent 
habit of detaching one or more of their rays, 
when each of these cast-oflf members becomes in 



WONDERS or THE SHORE. 



21 



time a perfect star. I have seen this operation 
performed many times, almost incredible as the 
statement seems to those unfamiliar with the 
vagaries of the zoophytes and radiates. For in- 
stance, an arm or ray would, perhaps, be acci- 
dentally broken off close up to its point of junc- 
tion with the central portion of the body. The 
animal, instead of appearing to be disturbed or 
annoyed, as it would be at the loss of its eggs, 
appears to mind tlie disappearance no more than 
if it were a cast-off garment, and goes about as 
happy with its remaining rays as if the whole 
had remained intact. Perhaps, if we could re- 
place a lost arm as easily as our star, we should 
be nearly as indiffereut to such a loss; for what 
do we see next? Only a little protuberance 
where the lost arm was separated. But look 
again in a week, and we shall see some little 
suckers or ambulacra projecting; the parts by 
degrees enlarge, and at the end of a few weeks 
a somewhat smaller but apparently quite per- 
fect arm takes the place of the lost member ! 
Its spines, water-tubes, tentacles, pedicellarise, 
etc., are all in perfect working order, and its 
normal functions are fulfilled with all the pre- 
cision of the elder rays. It is not, however, quite 
equal to the original ; besides being smaller, it is 
of a more delicate texture, and its color of a 
lighter shade. It is very interesting to watch 
this extraordinary effort of nature in the devel- 
opment of the new member. The last one I had 
in my collection was just fifteen weeks in pro- 
ducing a new, full-grown arm." 

This curious faculty is of no small practical 
importance, for the star-fish is very fond of oys- 
ters, which it eats by inserting its stomach be- 
tween the edges of the shell and gradually suck- 
ing the substance out. When brought up in the 




Serpent, or Brittle Star-Fish. 

nets, rakes, or dredges, as they often are, fisher- 
men are in the habit of cutting them up by draw- 
ing cords around them and throwing the pieces 



overboard — the result of which is to multiply 
their enemies fivefold. 

Belonging to the same group {EcMnodermatd) 
as the star-fish, and, in fact, very closely related, 
are the brittle star -fish {OpMopolis) and the 
basket-fish, both found in Massachusetts Bay. 
The former has long, slender arms, nearly cylin- 
drical in form, attached to a small disk-like body. 
These arms seem to be very loosely attached, and 
are often thrown off when the creature is fright- 










""^^ 



Sea-Egg, or Sea-Urchin. 

ened, readily growing again afterward. Similarly 
related, though not quite so closely, is the sea- 
urchin, or sea-egg, a curious animal, spherical 
in form and covered all over with long, beautiful- 
ly shaped spines, like those of the hedgehog. 
When alive sea-urchins are very shy, concealing 
themselves in holes and crevices of the rocks, or 
covering themselves with bits of sea- weed and 
the like, so that they must be closely looked for. 
As usually found, dead on the shore, the urchin 
is devoid of spines, and presents something the 
appearance of a melon, the surface being marked 
off into ten zones or divisions. " The urchin's 
relationship to the star-fish," says Mr. Damon, 
" may be illustrated by supposing that we bring 
all the five points of the star together, filling up 
the interstices with a similar substance : we have 
then a complete urchin minus the spines. Or, 
take the peel whole off of an orange, divide it 
into fifths, and bring the points up together, 
sticking needles in to simulate the spines, and 
we have an urchin, at least in shape." The 
color of the sea-urchin is usually reddish-brown 
or black, and while the body or ball part is not 
larger than a hen's egg (which it much resembles 
in shape) the spines are sometimes a foot long. 
" These animals," to quote Mr. Damon again, 
" are voracious vegetarians, eating off large 
fronds of the sea-lettuce and other plants, and 
cleaning a tank of every vestige of vegetation in 
a very short time. Their motion in swimming 
is slow, and when walking on the side of a 
glass tank, which they do with perfect ease on 
their long, slender legs (which are terminated 
by cup-shaped disks, constructed on the same 
principle as a surgeon's cupping-instrument), and 



22 



APPLETONS' SUMMEE BOOK. 



aided by the spines, they are certainly an attrac- 
tive sight, especially when all the spines and nu- 




Sea-Urchins lodged in the Rocks they have excavated 



merous pedicellariaj are fully distended. To the 
cursory observer they look no more capable of 
ascending a smooth surface like glass than a 
chestnut-bur does of walking up the side of a 
liouse." 

A more modest relative of tlie urchin is the 
" sand-dollar " or " sand-cake," which, instead of 
being spherical, is flat, and when at rest looks 
something like a circular cake of sand (of a red- 
dish-brown color) about the size of a silver dol- 
lar. 

Also belonging to the same group is the sea- 
cucumber {Holothuria), a curious cylindrical ani- 
mal, varying in length from an inch to between 
three and i'our feet, and found in several varie- 
ties on our shores. " They inhabit deep water, 
but when found near the sliore are usually partly 
imbedded in the muddy bottoms. Their outside 
covering is a tough, leathery skin, plentifully 
studded with short, liairy spines. The mouth, a 
circular opening at one end, is furnished with a 
wreath of beautiful plume-like appendages, which 



are extended at will for the purpose of grasping 
food and conveying it to the mouth ; but, the 
food being brought within 
reach, only one of these 
tentacula is occupied in ac- 
tually introducing it within 
the orifice, while the others 
remain passive, and appear 
to be waiting their turn to 
do the same service. Mrs. 
Agassiz has likened this 
group of tentacula in the 
sea-cucumber to some of 
the delicate sea-weeds, for 
their fineness of structure 
and the richness of their 
colors." These animals, be- 
sides the curious power of 
multiplying themselves by 
fissure, have the still more 
remarkable capacity of emp- 
tying themselves of nearly 
all their internal organs, and 
after a brief time of repro- 
ducing them and living on 
as comfortably as ever. 

The numerous family of 
hydroid medusae, jelly-fish, 
and the like, is very co- 
piously represented upon 
our shores. Of one variety 
of them (the Sertularia ar- 
gentea), Mr. Damon says : 
"Specimens can almost al- 
ways be found which have 
been washed ashore, lying 
high and dry, at Coney Isl- 
and ; and, in this state, I venture to say that 
not more than one person in a thousand who 





Sea-Cucumber. 



WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 



23 



pick this up supposes it to be anything but 
a vegetable production — some kind of sea-weed ; 
but it is altogether animal, built up by 
millions on millions of little hydroid 
polyps, almost invisible to the naked 
eye, but developing a world of beauty 
under the microscope. In its dead and 
dried condition it is of so fine and 
elegant a texture as to take the place 
of honor among dried ferns, and oth- 
er delicate plants or algae, usually with- 
out exciting the least suspicion in the 
minds of it>3 preservers that they are 
carefully cherishing an animal skeleton. 
The Sertularia pumila does not grow 
in such large masses as the former; it 
may be found attached to the lower 
sides of stones, or creeping along the 
sides of fucus, eel-grass, and different 
kinds of sea- weeds, and is a most beau- 
tiful object for the aquarium." 

The general principle upon which 
all these kinds of animals are construct- 
ed is that of a floating bladder, which 
can be filled or discharged of water at will, with 
a greater or less number of tentacula, and long, 
stinging filaments, and some appendages as sails 
with which to trim these bladder-boats, or else 
cilia to act as oars or means of propulsion. 
Some of them are so slight in their structure 
that they can not be submerged, though they 
are often thrown upon the shore, and in that 
manner suffer shipwreck. " When taken in- 
tact," says our author, "they will at first weigh 
surprisingly heavy for such transparent-looking 
objects, yet the weight consists almost wholly of 
nearly purfe sea- water; but when the animal is 
stranded and dies this water all escapes, and no- 
thing is left upon tlie sand but a filmy, gelatinous 
skin, scarcely observable, or looking like flakes 
of dried varnish in the sun. Some of them when 
distended with water will weigh ten or twelve 
pounds ; others are so small that a few ounces of 
water will contain thousands. Some of these 
animals have a much denser fibrous organiza- 
tion than others ; some are so extremely delicate 
that one would feel no substance if moving the 
hand through water in which they were sailing 
and actually coming in contact with them ; while 
others are not only gorgeously colored, but of a 
very definite consistency to the touch. Almost 
any day at certain hours may be seen stranded 
on the clean sands at Manhattan Beach hundreds 
and thousands of these shining little balls of life, 
varying in size from a pea to a marble. Some- 
times so many of these are blown ashore by the 
ocean-waves, that it is impossible for the multi- 
tude of people who visit tliis grand and popular 
seaside resort to avoid walking upon them.'' 



"The general name of Medusce,^^ continues 
Mr. Damon, " was given to this class of animals 




Living Hydrozoa. 
Seri'ula7'i(i 23innuta: a, natural size; b, enlarged. 

on account of the snake-like filaments which they 
all possess, and which are highly suggestive of 
the snaky locks of the Greek Medusa, one of the 
three Gorgons. And the petrifying power of 
the latter is practically exercised by their marine 
namesakes; for, if their looks are less terrible, 
their embrace may prove as fatal. And yet how 
beautiful they look as they move with a sort of 
pulsating motion through the water, generally 
borne by the tides and currents, but appearing 
to ride them voluntarily ! Sometimes hundreds 
of them may be seen floating along, showing 
every shade and tint, from the brightest to the 
most delicate opalescent hues. 

" How different is their appearance, thus dis- 
porting themselves, from the wretched aspect they 
present when stranded on the sands! But then 
the fine tissues, which in fact form the frame- 
work of the animal, can be examined at leisure; 
and it will be found that in nearly all there 
are four elongated oval marks crossing each oth- 
er nearly at right angles, variously tinted with 
some shade of red, and which are the seams or 
lines of juncture of the slight, sac-like skin which 
holds together this unsubstantial aqueous animal. 
But the best way, if possible, is to secure the 
medusa alive if one would see the modns operan- 
di by which this slight epidermis and these trail- 
ing threads resolve themselves into a beautiful 
form, which seems to hold the secret of the prism 
within its dilated cuticle. If, then, our medusa 
can be dipped up in a bucket, or some vessel 
large enough to secure it unmutilated, and the 
water drained or poured off, in a short time the 
animal will shrink away to a mere fibrous rem- 



24 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



nant. If now, before it actually dies, a new sup- 
ply of water is added, a little at a time, the whole 
process (f distention will be readily seen, and 
the animal will presently rise with something of 
that pulsating njovement which may be observed 
in a balloon during the procesi of filling it with 
gas. When nearly full it tugs at the cords, anx- 
ious to get into the aerial space ; and, as the me- 
dusa fills all its cellules with the fluid which gives 
it shape and consistency, it leaves the bottom of 
the vessel, floats gayly to the top, and once more 
revels in the air and light of the surface." 

One species of the Medusro, popularly known 
as "the stinger" {Gyanea capillata), is so dan- 
gerous, and so abundant upon our coasts, that 
Mr. Damon thinks that to it may be attributed 
some of the sudden drownings, apparently oth- 
erwise inexplicable, which have occurred with 
expert swimmers when at no great distance from 
shore. The long, poisonous filaments touch and 
paralyze the bather while the body of the animal 
is yet a considerable distance away ; and a gen- 
tleman who nearly lost his life from this cause 
at Long Branch a few years ago gives the follow- 
ing advice : " If the bather or shore-wanderer 
should happen to see, either tossing on the waves 
or thrown upon the beach, a loose, roundish 
mass of tawny membranes and fibers, something 
like a very large handful of lion's mane and sil- 
ver paper, let him beware of the object, and, 
sacrificing curiosity to discretion, give it as wide 
a berth as possible ; for this is the fearful 'sting- 
er,' the Gyanea capillata.'''' 

Other numerous and most interesting groups 
of seashore animals are the MoUusca and the 
Crustacea, which comprise the countless genera- 
tions of the shell-fishes, and some representatives 




The Dancing Scallops. 

of which are found on every coast. These are 
so well known and so easily found that we shall 
not pause to describe them, but will content our- 
selves with a reference to one or two of the 
most noteworthy. 

The common scallop, or " St. James's shell," 
is almost as familiar a sight in our markets as the 
oyster ; but, though chiefly regarded for its edi- 
ble qualities, its interesting habits render it pe- 
culiarly attractive to the zoological connoisseur. 



Says Mr. Damon : " The finest jewels of our 
fairest belles can be no brighter than the natural 
adornments of this common mollusk. In their 
native element alone the scallops show to per- 
fection all the beauties Nature has lavished upon 
them, especially when seen in motion. They 
move in a rapid zigzag fashion, and with the 
speed of an arrow, the propelling force being 
secured by the rapid opening and shutting of 
their valves. One can scarcely see a lovelier 




Crab eating a Clam. 

sight than that of a large number of these pretty 
creatures, with shells of every hue, from purest 
white to black, enlivened with shades of pink, 
yellow, fawn, and other tints, darting about in 
the clear water, up, down, here, there, every- 
where. In their fiight-like movements, vertical, 
horizontal, east, west, north, and south, they are 
more suggestive of a flock of winged animals 
than of bivalves of which to make a meal. 
When at last they dispose themselves to rest, 
sinking to the bottom for that purpose, and 
there remaining passive for hours at a time, they 
will in the aquarium, if not properly managed, 
come to anchor by tying themselves with their 
byssus to the rocks; and, if that occurs, they 
will entertain us no more with their lively and 
amusing habits." 

Perhaps the most fantastic creature of all the 
crab tribe is the sea-spider, or decorating crab, 
which, according to Mr. Damon, unites the ani- 
mal creation to the human, " for he has certainly 
one of the first instincts of civilization, namely, 
that of attempting to cover himself with extra- 
neous and ornamental garments. ... He is the 
dandy of the sea," continues Mr. Damon. " Bits 
of sea-weed are his great reliance, but small ob- 
jects of almost any kind he will appropriate, even 
to pieces of stone or wood. One of mine showed 
considerable taste and an idea of style, preferring 
always the most gaudy colors which he could 
find in tlie tank. These animals will spend hours 
every day at their toilet, appropriating with their 
hand-like claws bits of sea-weed, Sei'tularia, 
sponge, or Tubularia. One will perhaps place a 
bit on the tip of his nose, or suspend from it a 



TROUT-FISHING. 



25 



long ribbon-like strip of red or green algae, or 
affix similar fragments to his legs, elbows, or 
knees, as we may call them. He does not ap- 
pear to take these pieces at random, but has the 
air of selecting them with care, and then leisurely 
cutting them off from the large fronds with his 
own nippers, of which he has two pairs, one upon 
each of his two foremost arms. Having severed 
the desired portion, he takes it up in one of his 
hands (for his nippers serve for hands as well as 
shears), and, placing one end of it to his mouth, 
evidently deposits upon it a species of mucus or 
marine cement, which secures the object in the 
position in which his lordship sees fit to arrange 
it, and in which matter he is somewhat fastidious. 
This mucus must have great strength, for in his 




The Decorator. 

native element he will walk about thus arrayed, 
without any danger of his ornaments being 
washed away even by the rolling surf. In the 
tank, when his toilet is completed, he will ad- 
vance to the front or most conspicuous spot he 
can find, and as near to the spectator as he can 
conveniently get, with a self-satisfied air, as much 
as to say : ' I'm in full dress now ; how do you 
like my style?'" 

These are but a few even of those " wonders 
of the shore " which Mr. Damon finds room to 
treat of, and of course are but an infinitesimal 
proportion of the five hundred thousand recog- 
nized varieties of marine animal life. As we 
said at the outset, however, our aim has been to 
furnish only hints or suggestions, and if what we 
have written prove sufficient to arouse intelli- 
gent curiosity, and show the way to gratify it, 
we shall have accomplished all we hoped for and 
all the reader can reasonably expect of us. Those 
who desire more are advised to provide them- 
selves with Mr. Damon's handy little volume ; 
and such as would like to prolong the pleasures 



derived from their inquiries and researches are 
recommended to the article which appears else- 
where, entitled " A Miniature Marine Aquarium." 



TROUT-FISHING. 

FROM the time of old Izaak Walton and 
Charles Cotton until now, no pursuit or 
pastime in which man can engage has been the 
theme of such enthusiastic and appetizing writ- 
ing as angling ; and, by all the votaries of the art, 
trout-fishing is conceded to carry off the palm. 
If we may believe Dr. Prime, for example, there 
is no other way in which we can be so sure of 
reaching that innermost shrine where Nature ut- 
ters her mysterious oracles directly to the spirit 
of man ; and Mr. George Dawson, in expounding 
the "Pleasures of Angling with Rod and Reel 
for Trout and Salmon," finds it necessary to con- 
sider the subject in its relation to health, happi- 
ness, morals, religion, love of nature, serenity of 
spirit, and the like. Mr. John Burroughs, too, 
mingles his melodious notes with the general 
chorus, and devotes some of the most delightful 
of his ever-charming essays to enchanting us with 
" the legend of the wary trout." 

From one of these essays (on "Speckled 
Trout") we shall quote a few passages which 
will awaken a responsive thrill in those who 
have had experiences and sensations kindred to 
those described, and which to those who are un- 
familiar with the " legend " will serve to convey 
an idea of the fascination which it exercises and 
the enthusiasm which it can inspire. 

"I have been a seeker of trout from my boy- 
hood," says Mr. Burroughs, "and, on all the ex- 
peditions in which this fish has been the ostensible 
purpose, I have brought home more game than 
my creel showed. In fact, in my mature years, 
I find I got more of nature into me — more of the 
woods, the wild, nearer to bird and beast — while 
threading my native streams for trout than in al- 
most any other way. It furnished a good excuse 
to go forth ; it pitched one in the right key ; it 
sent one through the fat and marrowy places of 
field and wood. Then the fisherman has a harm- 
less, preoccupied look ; he is a kind of vagrant that 
nothing fears. He blends himself with the trees 
and the shadows. All his approaches are gentle 
and indirect. He times himself to the meander- 
ing, soliloquizing stream ; its impulse bears him 
along. At the foot of the waterfall he sits se- 
questered and hidden in its volume of sound. The 
birds know he has no designs upon them, and the 
animals see that his mind is in the creek. His 
enthusiasm anneals him, and makes him pliable 
to the scenes and influences he moves among. 



26 



APPLETOXS' SUMMER BOOK. 



" Then what acquaintance he makes with the 
stream ! He addresses himself to it as a lover to 
his mistress ; he woos it and stays with it till he 
knows its most hidden secrets ; it runs through his 
thoughts not less than through its banks there; 
he feels the fret and thrust of every bar and 
bowlder. Where it deepens, his purpose deep- 
ens ; where it is shallow, he is inditFerent. He 
knows how to interpret its every glance and 
dimple ; its beauty haunts him for days. 

" I am sure I run no risk of overpraising the 
charm and attractiveness of a well-fed trout- 
stream, every drop of water in it as bright and 
pure as if the nymphs had brought it all the way 
from its source in crystal goblets, and as cool as 
if it had been hatched beneath a glacier. When 
the heated and soiled and jaded refugee from 
the city first sees one, he feels as if he would like 
to turn it into his bosom and let it flow through 
him a few hours, it suggests such healing fresh- 
ness and newness. How his roily thoughts would 
run clear! How the sediment would go down 
stream ! Could he ever have an impure or an 
unwholesome wish afterward? The next best 
thing he can do is to tramp along its banks and 
surrender hioiself to its influence. If he reads it 
intently enough, he will, in a measure, be taking 
it into his mind and heart and experiencing its 
salutary ministrations. . . . 

" The trout like meadows ; doubtless their 
food is more abundant there, and usually the good 
hiding-places are more numerous. As soon as 
you strike a meadow the character of the creek 
changes: it goes slower and lies deeper; it tar- 
ries to enjoy the high, cool banks, and to half 
hide beneath them ; it loves the willows, or, ra- 
ther, the willows love it and shelter it from the 
sun ; its spring-runs are kept cool by the over- 
hanging grass, and the heavy turf that faces its 
open banks is not cut away by the sharp hoof 
of the grazing cattle. Then there are the bobo- 
links and starlings and meadow larks, always in- 
terested spectators of the angler; there are also 
the marsh marigolds, the buttercups, or the spot- 
ted lilies, and the angler is always an interested 
spectator of them. In fact, the patches of mead- 
ow-land that lie in the angler's course are like 
the happy experiences in his own life, or like the 
fine passages in the poem he is reading: the pas- 
ture oftener contains the shallow and monoto- 
nous places. In the small streams the cattle 
scare the fish, and soil their element, and break 
down their retreats under the banks. Wood- 
land alternates the best with meadow : the creek 
loves to burrow under the roots of a great tree, 
to scoop out a pool after leaping over the pros- 
trate trunk of one, and to pause at the foot of a 
ledge of moss-covered rocks, with ice-cold water 
dripping down. How straight the current goes 



for the rock ! Note its corrugated, muscular ap- 
pearance ! It strikes and glances off, but accu- 
mulates, deepens with well-defined eddies above 
and to one side. On the edge of these the trout 
lurk and spring upon their prey. 

"The angler learns that it is generally some 
obstacle or hindrance tiiat makes a deep place in 
the creek, as in a brave life, and his ideal brook 
is one that lies in deep, well-defined banks, yet 
makes many a shift from right to left, meets 
with many rebufls and adventures, hurled back 
upon itself by rocks, waylaid by snags and trees, 
tripped up by precipices, but sooner or later re- 
posing under meadow-banks, deepening and ed- 
dying beneath bridges, or prosperous and strong 
in some level stretch of cultivated land, with 
great elms shading it here and there. 

" But I early learned that from almost any 
stream in a trout country the true angler could 
take trout, and that the great secret was this : 
That whatever bait you used — worm, grasshop- 
per, grub, or fly — there was one thing you must 
always put upon your hook, namely, your heart. 
When you bait your hook with your heart the 
fish always bite ; they will jump clean from the 
water after it ; they will dispute with each other 
over it ; it is a morsel they love above everything 
else. With such bait I have seen the born angler 
(my grandfather was one) take a noble string of 
trout from the most unpromising waters and on 
the most unpromising day. He used his hook 
so coyly and tenderly, he approached the fish 
with such address and insinuation, he divined 
the exact spot where they lay ; if they were not 
eager, he humored them and seemed to steal by 
them ; if they were playful and coquettish, he 
would suit his mood to theirs; if they were frank 
and sincere, he met them half way ; he was so 
patient and considerate, so entirely devoted to 
pleasing the critical trout, and so successful in 
his efforts — surely his heart was upon his hook, 
and it was a tender, unctuous heart, too, as that 
of every angler is. How nicely he would mea- 
sure the distance! how dexterously he would 
avoid an overhanging limb or brush and drop the 
line in exactly the right spot ! Of course, there 
was a pulse of feeling and sympathy to the ex- 
tremity of that line. If your heart is of stone, 
however, or an empty husk, there is no use to 
put it upon your hook ; it will not tempt the 
fish; the bait must be quick and fresh. Indeed, 
a certain quality of youth is indispensable to the 
successful angler; a certain unworldliness and 
readiness to invest yourself in an enterprise that 
don't pay in the current coin. Not only is the 
angler, like the poet, born and not made, as 
Walton says, but there is a deal of the poet in 
him, and he is to be judged no more harshly ; he 
is the victim of his genius. Those wild streams, 



TROUT-FISHING. 



27 



how they haunt him! He will play truant to 
dull care, and flee to them ; their waters impart 
somewhat of their own perpetual youth to him." 
That is very captivating, is it not ? But it is 
well that the author remembers to mention be- 
fore he closes that there is another side to the 
picture. "People inexperienced in such mat- 
ters," he says, " sitting in their rooms and think- 
ing of these things, of all the poets have sung 
and romancers written, are apt to get sadly taken 
in when they attempt to realize their dreams. 
They expect to enter a sylvan paradise of trout, 
cool retreats, laughing brooks, picturesque views, 
balsamic couches, etc., instead of which they find 
hunger, rain, smoke, toil, gnats, mosquitoes, dirt, 
broken rest, vulgar guides, and salt pork ; and 
they are very apt not to see where the fun comes 
in. But he who goes in a right spirit will not be 
disappointed, and will find the taste of this kind 
of life better, though bitterer, than the writers 
have described." 

This is no doubt true, but Mr. Burroughs 
might have added that much, of the disappoint- 
ment felt by beginners is due not merely to ab- 
sence of the " right spirit," but to mistakes pro- 
duced by their inexperience, and to ignorance of 
a few practical details which it is essential for a 
would-be angler to know, and which are rarely 
furnished by the rhapsodists. The more impor- 
tant of these practical details, therefore, we shall 
now proceed to furnish. 

OUTFIT FOR A CAMPING EXPEDITION. 

The late Bayard Taylor, than whom few can 
have had a wider "experience, has said some- 
where, in effect, that the art of traveling com- 
fortably is dependent upon the art of limiting 
one's baggage ; and this great truth is especially 
applicable to that sort of travel which is involved 
in camp-life and "sport." Not only are the 
elaborate outfits with which novices usually 
equip themselves a foolish waste of money, but 
he who takes such a one into the woods is con- 
demning himself to an amount of toil at which a 
hod -carrier would rebel. Nothing is more cum- 
brous and diflScult to pack than personal luggage 
of this sort, and, as guides have very distinct 
ideas of what they can be expected to do, the 
sportsman may be sure that any superfluous 
impedimenta will fall to his own share. More- 
over, there is no surer sign of the " greenhorn " ; 
and, as too obvious a greenhorn is apt to be 
treated as such by all whom he meets, the very 
outfit which has cost him so much pains and 
money will prove the chief drawback to his at- 
taining the objects of his ambition. 

According to those who know from long ex- 
perience, the following list comprises all the 



" essentials " in the way of clothes that one man 
will need for a two months' trip in the wilder- 
ness, beyond what he wears in : 

A complete undersuit of woolen or flannel, 
with a "change." 

Stout pantaloons, vest, and coat. 

A felt hat. 

Two pairs of stockings (woolen). 

Pair of common stout winter boots and camp 
shoes. 

Rubber blanket or coat. 

A pair of pliable buckskin gloves, with cham- 
ois-skin gauntlets tied or buttoned at the elbow. 

Hunting-knife, belt, and a pint tin cup. 

To these should be added a pair of warm 
woolen blankets, uncut, and a few toilet articles, 
such as towel, soap, etc. 

The above is a good serviceable outfit, and, 
with the exception of the blankets, can easily be 
packed in a carpet-bag, which is readily stowed 
in a boat or carried over "portages." Of course, 
but a small portion of this outfit will be required 
by those who make their headquarters at some 
convenient hotel or farmhouse; but, one of the 
first things that a beginner learns is, that fishing 
worth the effort can seldom be obtained in places 
that are easily accessible. 



The following is Mr. W. H. H. Murray's ad- 
vice regarding tackle : 

One light single-handed fly-rod, with " flies." 

In respect to " flies," do not overload your 
book. This is a good assortment : 

Hackles, black, red, and brown, 6 each. 

Avoid small hooks and imported " French 
flies." 

Let the flies be made on hooks from Nos. 3 
to 1, Limerick size. 

All fancy flies discard. They are good for 
nothing generally, unless it be to show to your 
lady friends. In addition to the "Hackles," 

Canada fly (6), an excellent fly. 

Green drake (6). 

Red ibis (6). 

Small salmon flies (6), best of all. 

If in the fall of the year, take 

English blue-jay (6). 

Gray drake (6) — good. 

Last, but not least, a large stoutly-woven 
landing-net. 

This is enough. I know that what I say 
touching the salmon-flies will astonish some, but 
I do not hesitate to assert that with two dozen 
salmon-flies I should feel myself well provided 
for a six weeks' sojourn in the wilderness. 

If you are unaccustomed to " fly-fishing" and 
prefer to " grub it " with ground bait {and good 
sport can ie had with iait-Jishing, too), get two 



28 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



or three dozens short-shanked, good-sized hooks, 
hand-tied to strong crmm-colored snells, and you 
are well provided. K you can find worms, they 
make the best bait ; if not, cut out a strip from 
a chub, and, loading your line with shot, yanlc it 
along through the water some foot or more un- 
der the surface. I have had trout many times 
rise and take such a bait, even when skittered 
along on the top of the water. To every fly 
fisher my advice is, be sure and take plenty of 
casting- lines; have some six, othei's nine feet 
long. There are lines made out of " sea-snell." 
These are the best. Never select a bright, glis- 
tening gut. Always search for the creamy-look- 
ing ones. 

PEAOTICAL HINTS FOB BEGINNEES. 

1. Whenever you see a small stream, cold to 
the touch, and rippling clear over clean, smooth, 
or mossy stones — especially if it is near moun- 
tains or in woods — there are probably trout in it, 
unless they have all been fished out or otherwise 
destroyed. Of course, the more remote the 
stream is from " settlements " and the more dif- 
ficult of access, the more likely it is to contain 
fish in abundance. 

2. Always fish doicn stream^ if possible. 

3. The art of successful trout-fishing is, to a 
great extent, the art of keeping out of sight of 
the fish. An expert angler knows almost by in- 
stinct where to drop his hook while remaining 
concealed behind a bush or a rock. 

4. The mistake most often made by begin- 
ners is in thinking that fish are only to be caught 
in holes or pools. Most brook-trout are caught 
in those rippling shallows where the water fiows 
swift over barely concealed stones. 

5. The trout-fisher must not be afraid of wet 



feet. "Where the banks are difiicult or afford 
little concealment, the best way to fish is to walk 
along in the stream, letting the hook run far 
down ahead. 

6. When fishing in a party, never fish close 
together. Portion off the stream, and keep out 
of sight of each other. 

7. Ordinary earth-worms (not too large) are 
usually the best bait. Put plenty on the hook, 
and as soon as the bait looks ragged or whitish 
take it off and put on fresh. The eye of a fresh- 
ly-caught fish is good bait ; better still is the anal 
tin ; best of all (especially for large fish) are the 
little bullheads or darts (an inch and a half or 
two inches long) found in clear, still shallows. 
When none of these are obtainable, a bit of ba- 
con, or bread, or white cotton will often answer. 

8. Trout are as whimsical and coquettish as 
young ladies. At times they will bite anything 
as rapidly as it is offered. Again for hours or 
days together, nothing can induce them to bite. 
When reluctant, try them with diff"erent kinds of 
flies and bait. Somietimes they will accept one 
lure when nothing else seems to tempt them. 

9. In small brooks, the best time to fish is 
just when the water is running clear after a 
good, hard, or long rain. 

10. The best time of day to fish is usually 
in the early morning or forenoon. After dusk 
trout can seldom be induced to bite. 

11. The smallness of a stream need not dis- 
courage. Any water deep enough to conceal a 
hook is deep enough to contain trout. 

12. Small fish afford less sport in the catch- 
ing than large ones, but those about six to eight 
inches long are perhaps the best eating of all. 

13. In trout-fishing, as in all other fishing, 
patience and quiet are the supreme requirements. 



BIED-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JERSEY. 



THE entire ocean-front of New Jersey, from 
Sandy Hook to its corresponding point 
known as Cape May, is made up of long lines of 
sandy deposits, occasionally broken by inlets, 
and diversified by bays and lagoons, presenting a 
strange, and at first sight repulsive, combination 
of shallows and bars, mingling in interminable 
confusion. The water sometimes becomes con- 
fined in small harbors, into which empty minia- 
ture rivers, some of the largest of which afford 
tolerable navigation for boats of very small pro- 
portions. Against this low, broken coast the 
surf of the stormy Atlantic, even on the calmest 
days, beats with inquietude, and, when the storm 
rages, the angry waves plunge spitefully into the 



low banks, twisting the sand-heaps into every 
variety of form, and, in a night, in the wanton- 
ness of its power, often changing the very face 
of the landscape. 

In the "olden times" the lighthouses, placed 
here and there along the " desolation," were not 
supposed to be erected to welcome the home- 
ward-bound vessel to a safe ancliorage, but to 
announce danger, for there was no hospitality to 
shijis at Absecum or Barnegat. 

The lands in the vicinity have apparently but 
little soil worth cultivation; there are spots to 
be occasionally met with, which, by an inunda- 
tion of " moss-bunkers " and " horseshoes," 
change fi-om aridity to suggestive loam ; but, 



BIRD-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JEESEY. 



29 



when the fertilizing qualities of these " queer 
fish " escape in fetid gas, or disappear through 
the bottomless sand, the fitful dream of vege- 
tation vanishes away. Then assumes again the 
supremacy of salt-ribbed grass, which is not only 
valueless to man or quadruped, but even defies 



the nippers and untiring industry of the fiddler- 
crab. 

But with time there has been found a charm 
about these waste places which makes them, to 
the constantly increasing populations which grav- 
itate in and around our great metropolis, a haven 




Bird-Shooting in Absecum Creek, New Jersey. 



of never-ending consolation. The strong, untir- 
ing arms of steam have almost robbed the coast 
of much of its marine terrors, while the jutting 
banks of sand are being crowded with costly res- 
idences. Taste and fashion have carried their 
votaries down to these surf-beaten shores, that 
they, the votaries, may be invigorated with the 



fresli, life-inspiring breezes which come across 
the sea. The surf, which was formerly the har- 
binger of evil, is now the nursery of health; 
while. the repulsive coast, in addition, is found 
to be the center of " feeding-grounds " which 
attract the inexhaustible wealth of the ocean, 
and the lagoons and sluggish streams are alive 



30 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



with every variety of feathered aquatic game 
that tempt the appetite and encourage manly 
sports. 

While the seacoast of New Jersey has be- 
come known to the fashionable world within a 
comparatively recent date, the country in its iso- 
lated condition was, and has been for scores of 
years, the center of a primitive people, who have 
lived pleasantly and thrived abundantly ; who, 
without being sailors, are pretty good seamen, 
and, without being husbandmen, glean treasures 
from the earth — a kind of amphibious humanity, 
almost as much at home on dry land as its rep- 
resentatives are on the water. These primitive 
people find a paying business in furnishing New 
York City and much of the outside world with 



fish, are kind and hospitable, and not given to 
the indulgence in conventionalities which are 
considered so essential where more artificial man- 
ners prevail. 

The amateur and accomphshed sportsmen 
have alike an admirable field for their pursuits 
on this southern Jersey coast ; independent of 
the unsurpassed fishing, the number of aquatic 
birds, which visit the vicinity each successive 
month of the passing summer and fall, is almost 
beyond calculation. Hence it is tbat the true 
Nimrod finds no difficulty, in company with his 
well-trained setter, in selecting his field and his 
game, and, sauntering away from the busy crowd, 
he indulges his love for Nature and gratifies his 
ambition for sport, by finding the reward of his 




Curlew-Shooting. 



labors at nightfall to be a well-filled bag, each 
individual specimen contained therein suggesting 
some reminiscence of a good shot, or of an un- 
expected trait of sagacity in his faithful hunting- 
companion, his dog. 

The tyro who, pent up in the city the long 
year, very sensibly rushes into the wilds we 
speak of to spend his short vacation from busi- 
ness, and who knows httle of the practical use 
of the gun, finds no difficulty, after he has over- 
loaded his weapon with powder and shot, in 
bringing down innumerable victims to his prow- 
ess, for fortune most frequently favors him with 
the privilege of firing into great flocks of cur- 
lews, snipe, or meadow-larks. To this excitement 
is added the novelty of threading the creeks and 
watercourses in some primitive skiff", or dug-out, 
the awkwardness of their construction and diffi- 



culty of their management adding relish to the 
expedition. 

Among the few birds which are abundant in 
summer, the snipe is the most delicious to eat, 
and most individualized in its peculiarities, and 
so easily approached, if any attention is paid to 
its habits, that the sportsman must be most in- 
different who fails to meet with some success. 
The red-breasted snipe, which is a favorite with 
amateurs, because less wary than other shore- 
birds, come in flocks, and settle upon the mud- 
flats and sand-bars, and soon become so engaged 
in the business of procuring food, that they will 
often allow a boat to approach sufficiently near 
to give its occupants an opportunity to fire with 
destructive effect. Yet, for all this easy killing 
of the game we speak of, " a crack snipe-shot," 
that is, a person who will take them singly and 



BIRD-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JERSEY. 



31 



successfully, is good against all 
other birds. The curlew is also 
a favorite, and combines in its 
capture some of the excitement 
attending the chase after fish. 
With a favorable breeze, to send 
the well-trimmed boat over the 
bay, and the curlews jilentiful 
enough to be brought within 
gunshot, hours of enjoyment are 
obtained that leave pleasant 
reminiscences for the remainder 
of one's life. If hunted in the 
lagoons and marshes, they are 
excedingly shy, and difficult to 
approach ; but, if a curlew hap- 
pens to be wounded, its screams 
of pain and for succor will 
bring its companions to its res- 
cue, and their devotion under 
these circumstances is often the 
cause of their untimely death. 

The meadow-larks, which we 
naturally associate with the high and dry fields, 
find attractions in the barren places of New 
Jersey, and, along with that traditional glutton 
of rice and other farinaceous seeds, the reed- 
bird, make the vicinity of their temporary homes 
musical with their sweet notes, and afford most 
animated sport. 

Common to all regions filled with game, there 
is the hunter, who, regardless of the healthful 
excitement and the unfoldings of the secrets of 
Nature enjoyed by the refined and cultivated 
sportsmen, makes the pursuit one of business. 




After Reed-Birds. 

and to whose unsentimental industry the people 
of our cities are indebted for so much palatable 
food. These men are generally possessed of good- 
nature, are quiet, and fond of being alone. They 
work hard, and are satisfied with moderate gains. 
They are great favorites with "hunters," who 
exhaust their energies in talking about the plea- 
sures of wading through the swamps, plunging 
across mud-banks, fighting mosquitoes, and shoot- 
ing on the wing, when in search of game, but who 
really have no other actual ambition than to waste 
their time in idleness, in their hearts the while 




Shooting Robin-breasted Snipe. 



32 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 





Meadow-Larks near Tuckerton. 



laughing to scorn the enthusiast who works all 
day for game that, they say, can be bought for a 
song. Let one of these idlers come suddenly 
upon a " pot-hunter " at work in the woods, who 
will dispose of the fruits of his industry for mod- 
erate reward in money, and you will witness the 
next hour an addition to the "settlement" of 
" a knowing one," who, overborne with game, 
will, for long hours, grow eloquent over his ex- 
traordinary experiences, accidents, and escapes, 
suffered by him while securing the contents of 
his well-filled bag. 




The country-store, dignified with the posses- 
sion of the post-ofiice, in these amphibious towns, 
is the true center of gossip — set up in some old- 
fashioned building erected in part of pine scant- 
ling and the wrecked pieces of stranded ships, 
while the cozy manner the goods are all stored 
away is highly suggestive of the economy of 
space so observable in the cabin of an Albany 
sloop. Salt and silks, tenpenny nails and gay 
calico, sweet crackers and pickles, tacks and nut- 
megs, sugar and carboHc soap, all mingle in gen- 
eral confusion. Here are carried on traffic and 
gossip, and the successful 
magnate, who has sud- 
denly filled his pockets 
to overflowing by some 
unusual luck in catching 
sheepshead or Spanish 
mackerel, will spend his 
money with the most 
gentlemanly disregard of 
economy, and gossip for 
hours, stretched on a pile 
of merchandise or the 
counter, so that the cor- 
roding effect of saline 
fogs and salt-water on 
jeans, satinets, and cow- 
hide boots, may be con- 
veniently studied by the 
casual customer. 

The " old inhabit- 
ants " of this Jersey coast 
H;ake great pride in their 



AIR-PAINTING. 



33 



locality, which is often illustrated in very char- 
acteristic ways. It was at one of these country- 
store gatherings that a learned cockney from 
New York attempted a general lecture on the 
voracity of animals of the feline species, more 
especially of the tiger-kind. A representative 
of Barnegat beach, who was present, listened 
a wliile with unconcealed impatience, and finally 
broke forth after the following fashion : 

" Thar's no use to talk to me about them tigers 
for fighting and biting; they ain't anything that 
may be compared to a well-grown blue-fish. He's 
an animal, if he hasn't got claws, that can whip 
anything of his size, and something over. In fact, 
a regular blue-fish is a natural enemy of every 
fish not superior to him in size, and goes about, 
as Satan does in Scripture, seeking whom he may 




The Knowing One. 

devour. Nothing swallowable comes amiss to 
him. He gorges himself with bits of sea-weed 
and junk-bottles, and then gobbles up clam-shells 
and gravel-stones to aid his digestion. The tiger 
is nothing to a blue-fish, in t'aring things to pieces. 
Why, a shoal of moss-bunkers or porgies, disport- 
ing in the sea, will be cut to shreds in no time by 
a dozen blue-fish. He's clipper-built, he is ; and, 
when doing his work, will spring at his fodder, 
dash around it like a mad cat, and, in a few sec- 
onds, kill, waste, and devour more than his own 
weight, driving every living thing from the vicini- 
ty but the tautog — that black rascal having sense 
enough to hide away in sand-holes and under tlie 
rocks until the yarthquate is over. And when 
the blue-fish has got a surfeit, and you would 
suppose you couldn't drive a point of a knife into 
his body with a hammer, he will dash at a bone 
bait, seize it, and, when you haul liim up, he will 
3 



give you a few nabs at your hands and legs, just to 
let vou know that his appertite is insatiable even 
in death. Talk about tigers ! what are they for 
fighting and eating, to a clipper-built blue-fish ? " 
The game pursued is, for the most part, not 
native to these shores, visiting the coast only as 
annual trysting-places, and hence can scarcely be 
exterminated. Each year it comes in abundance, 
and hence hunting and fishing must remain a 
permanent attraction of these sandy shallows. 
Absecum Creek and Beach, tlie scene of our illus- 
trations, are near Atlantic City, in the county of 
the same name. They may be reached from New 
York by the New Jersey Southern Railway to 
Atco, thence by the Camden and Atlantic road, 
or from Philadelphia direct by the latter route. 



AIR-PAINTING. 

" ~T' HAVE seen a gallery of many pictures," 
_L. said one who had been sitting on the sea- 
shore watching the sunset. There had been fleet- 
ing clouds, ships that came and went, and varying 
skies that now shrouded the scene in gray, now 
flooded it with yellow or rosy tints ; and the sails 
of the vessels, as they continually formed into 
new groups, at one moment became superb foci 
of light, at another shadowy phantoms. Those 
who have eyes to see need not go in search of 
new landscapes; there is always a succession of 
changes coming to him if he will but attentively 
watch the gallery that Nature keeps always open 
to those who can see. One of our best landscape- 
painters declares that landscape-painting is air- 
painting ; that a veil hangs over every scene, 
which is different at different times, and it is 
this veil, this medium of atmosphere, that gives 
to every picture its true quality. "One day," 
he says, " we go out in the morning, and, look- 
ing up and down the street, take no note of the 
sight; we are not impressed; but another day 
there is a slight change in the density or clarity 
of the atmosphere, and lo ! what before was a 
commonplace view has become extremely beauti- 
ful. It is the change in the air that has made 
the change in the object." There ought to be a 
great deal of philosophical comfort in this theory 
to all who liave to stay at home. Every one has 
observed how a distant mountain changes its as- 
pect during difterent hours of the day, and noted 
similar transformations on the sea; but few, per- 
haps, have fully realized how every view, how- 
ever apparently ordinary in character, has its 
succession of changes ; how completely it proves 
to the studious observer an ever-varying gallery 
of pictures, each of which has its peculiar quality 
and its subtile beauty. 



34: 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



THE HUNTERS' RETURN. 




'TTT'ITII rhytliniic chime 
VV Our oars keep time 
Adown the rapid river ; 

On groves of balm 

And bays of calm 
The hues of sunset quiver. 

Ob, glad the song 

That lilts along 
From hearts so fondly yearning! 

For them afar 

Night's fairest star — 
The lamp of home is burning! 



And sweet the thrill 

Of hearts that still 
Await night's radiant cover, 

That lips may press 

In tenderness 
Their weary, hunter lover! 

All day we clove 

Past isle and cove, 
And pine-trees' fringy branches, 

And where the stream 

Danced, all agleam 
With foamy avalanches! 



A MINIATUEE MARINE AQUARIUM. 



35 



'Neath rocky steep 

Where mirrored deep 
Were caverns black and glossy, 

And we have dipped 

Our oars, and slipped 
By meadows mild and mossy. 

But shadows fall. 

Night covers all, 
And we are landward going ; 

Our toils are past: 

Give way ! and fast 
Now, comrades, be our rowing ! 

Oh, day may fail. 

And night may pale, 
And stars maj" one by one set ; 

But lights of home, 

Howe'er we roam, 
Burn brighter at the sunset ! 

George Coopek, 



A MINIATURE MARINE AQUA- 
RIUM. 

IN his charming little volume, " Glaucus, or 
the Wonders of the Shore," the late Charles 
Kingsley gives the following practical directions 
for forming an "aquarium," such as the least 
ambitious can put in practice, and which any 
one can derive pleasure from possessing : 

"Buy at any glass-shop a cylindrical glass 
jar, some six inches in diameter and ten high ; 
wasli it clean, and fill it with clean salt water, 
dipped out of any pool among the rocks, only 
looking first to see that there is no dead fish or 
other evil matter in the said pool, and that no 
stream from tlie land runs into it. If you choose 
to take the trouble to dip up the water over a 
boat's side, so much the better. 

" So much for your vase ; now to stock it. 

" Go down at low spring-tide to the nearest 
ledge of rocks, and with a hammer and chisel 
cliip off a few pieces of stone covered with grow- 
ing sea-weed. Avoid the common and coarser 
kinds which cover the surface of the rocks, for 
they give out under water a slime which will 
foul your tank ; but choose the more delicate spe- 
cies which fringe the edges of every pool at low- 
water mark : the pink coralline, the dark-purple 
ragged dulse {RJiodymenia), the Carrageen moss 
(Chondrus), and above all, the commonest of all, 
the delicate green ulva, which you will see grow- 
ing everywhere in wrinkled, fan-shaped sheets, 
as thin as the finest silver-paper. The smallest 
bits of stone are sufiicient, provided the sea- 



weeds have hold of them ; for they have no real 
roots, but adhere by a small disk, deriving no 
nourishment from the rock, but only from the 
water. Take care, meanwhile, that there is as 
little as possible on the stone, besides the weed 
itself. Especially scrape off any small sponges, 
and see that no worms have made their twining 
tubes of sand among the weed-stems; if they 
have, drag them out; for they will surely die, 
and as surely spoil all by sulphuretted hydrogen, 
blackness, and evil smells. 

'• Put your weeds into your tank and settle 
them at the bottom, which last, some say, should 
be covered with a layer of pebbles ; but let the 
beginner leave it as bare as possible, for the 
pebbles only tempt cross-grained annelids to 
crawl under them, die, and spoil all by decaying ; 
whereas it the bottom of the vase is bare you 
can see a sickly or dead inhabitant at once, and 
take him out (which you must do) instantly. 
Let your weeds stand quietly in the vase a day 
or two before you put in any live animals, and 
even then do not put any in if the water does 
not appear perfectly clear ; but lift out the 
weeds, and renew the water ere you replace 
them. 

" Now for the live-stock : In the crannies of 
every rock you will find sea-anemones (Actinia') ; 
and a dozen of these only will be enough to con- 
vert your little vase into the most brilliant of 
living flower-gardens. There they hang upon 
the under side of the ledges, apparently mere 
rounded lumps of jelly; one is of dark purple, 
dotted with green; another of a rich chocolate; 
another of a delicate olive ; another, sienna-yel- 
low ; another, all but white. Take them from 
their rock ; you can do it easily by slipping un- 
der them your finger-nail, or the edge of a pew- 
ter spoon. Take care to tear the sucking base 
as little as possible (though a small rent they 
will darn for themselves in a few days, easily 
enough), and drop them into a basket of wet 
sea-weed; when you get home turn them into a 
dish full of water and leave them for the night, 
and go to look at them to-morrow. What a 
change ! The dull lumps of jelly have taken 
root and flowered during the night, and your 
dish is filled from side to side with a bouquet of 
chrysanthemums ; each has expanded into a hun- 
dred-petaled flower, crimson, pink, purple, or 
orange; touch one, and it shrinks together like 
a sensitive-plant, displaying at the root of the 
petals a ring of brilliant turquoise beads. That 
is the commonest of all the ActinisB {Mesembry- 
anthemiim) ; you may have him when and where 
you will. But, if you will search those rocks 
somewhat closer, you will find even more gor- 
geous species than he. See in that pool some 
dozen large ones, in full bloom, and quite six 



36 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



inches across, some of them ! If their cousins, 
whom we found just now, were like chrysanthe- 
mums, these are like quilled dahlias; their arms 
are stouter and shorter in proportion than those 
of the last species, but their color is equally bril- 
liant. One is a brilliant blood-red; another, a 
delicate sea-blue, striped with pink; but most 
have the disk and the innumerable arras striped 
and ringed with various shades of gray and 
brown. Shall we get them? By all means, if 
we can. Touch one. "Where is he now ? Gone ! 




Marine Tank, Front View. 




Marine Tank, Side View. 

Vanished into air or into stone? Not quite. 
You see that knot of sand and broken sliell ly- 
ing on the rock where your dahlia was one mo- 
ment ago. Touch it, and you will find it leath- 
ery and elastic. That is all which remains of 
the live dahlia. Never mind; get your finger 
into the crack under him, work him gently but 
firmly out, and take him home, and he will be 
as happy and as gorgeous as ever to-morrow. 

" Let your Actiniae stand for a day or two in 
the dish, and then, picking out the liveliest and 
handsomest, detacli tliem once more from their 
hold, drop them into your vase, right them witli 
a bit of stick, so that the sucking base is down- 
ward, and leave them to themselves thence- 
forth. . . . 

" But you will want more than these anemones, 
both for your own amusement and for the health 
of your tank. Microscopic animals will breed, 
and will also die ; and you need for them a scav- 
enger. Turn, then, a few stones which lie piled 
on each other at extreme low^-water mark, and five 
linutes' search will give you the very animal you 



want, a little crab, of a dingy russet above, and 
on the inner side like smooth porcelain. His 
back is quite flat, and so are his large, angular 
fringed claws, which, when he folds them up, lie 
in the same plane with his shell, and fit neatly 
into its edges. Compact little rogue that he is, 
made especially for sidling in and out of cracks 
and crannies, he carries with him such an ap- 
paratus of combs and brushes as Isidor or Floris 
never dreamed of; with which he sweeps out of 
the sea-water at every moment shoals of minute 
animalcules, and sucks them into his tiny mouth. 
"Next, your sea-weeds, if they thrive as they 
ought to do, will sow their minute spores in 
milUons around them ; and these, as they vege- 
tate, will form a green film on the inside of the 
glass, spoiling your prospect; you may rub it off 
for yourself, if you will, with a rag fastened to a 
stick ; but, if you wish at once to save yourself 
trouble, and to see how all emergencies in nature 
are provided for, you will set three or four live 
shells to do it for you, and to keep your subaque- 
ous lawn close mown. 

" That last word is u6 figure of speech. Look 
among the beds of sea-weed for a few of the 
bright yellow or green sea-snails (Herita), or 
Conical Tops (Trochus), especially that beautiful 
pink one spotted with brown, which you are sure 
to find about shaded rock-ledges at dead low tide, 
and put them in your aquarium. For the pres- 
ent they will only nibble the green ulvaa ; but, 
when the film of young weed begins to form, 
you will see it mown oif every morning as fast 
as it grows, in little semicircular sweeps, just as 
if a fairy's scythe had been at work during the 
night. And a scythe has been at work ; none 
other than the tongue of the little shell-fish. 

"A prawn or two, and a few minute star-fish, 
will make your aquarium complete; though you 
add to it endlessly, as one glance at the salt-water 
tanks of the Zoological Gardens, and the strange 
and beautiful forms which they contain, will 
prove to you sufficiently." 

The author then goes on to explain that there 
are tw'o more enemies to guard against — dust 
and heat. If the surface of the water becomes 
clogged with dust, aeration caTi not take place, 
and the animals will die. The best way to pre- 
vent this is to stir the surface of the water 
occasionally, or tie a piece of muslin over the 
mouth, or simply lay a sheet of brown paper over 
it. This last is best of all, perhaps, because its 
shade also protects against the next great evil, 
heat. If the vase is left in a sunny window long 
enough for the water to become tepid all is over 
with your pets, and lialf an hour's exposure may 
frustrate the care of weeks. And yet, on the 
other hand, light must be abundant, or the sea- 
weeds will neither thrive nor keep the water 



HOW TO MAKE AN HERBARIUM. 



37 



sweet. Choose, therefore, a sontli or east win- 
dow, but draw down the blind, or throw a hand- 
kerchief over all if the heat becomes fierce. The 
water should always feel cold to your hand, let 
the temperature outside be what it may. 

Next, you must make up for evaporation by 
adding a little fresh water, as often as you find 
the water in the vase sinking below its original 
level. Otherwise the water would soon become 
too salt, for the salts, remember, do not evapo- 
rate with the water. 

"Where, from any cause, the water has be- 
come spoiled, and fresh sea-water is not pro- 
curable, the following formula (Mr. Gosse's) may 
be used for making artificial sea- water: 

Parts. 

Common table salt 81 

Epsom salts 7 

Chloride of magnesium 10 

Chloride of potassium 2 

Total 100 

One pound of this mixture carefully dissolved 
in water, and then filtered, will make about three 
gallons of sea-water. 

For those who would like something a little 
less primitive than the glass jar, a marine tank, 
such as that shown in the cuts, will answer ad- 
mirably, and make a very beautiful display. The 
front is of glass, the back and two ends are of mar- 
ble, slate, or well-seasoned wood, and the bottom 
is an inclined plane rising from the lower corner 
in front to above the water-level behind. The 
purpose of the sloping bottom is to afford the 
anemones, etc., which move seldom and slowly, 
to approach the surface and recede from it at 
pleasure. The bottom may be covered to the 
depth of an inch or two with sand and gravel, 
and rocks and shells may be arranged on the 
slope above. In selecting and arranging the 
plants and animals the suggestions given above 
will apply. The animals should be fed twice a 
week with finely cut fresh mussels, oysters, or 
raw beef ; and, in the case of mollusks, actinia), 
etc., etc., food should be placed within reach by 
means of a small glass rod. When the supply of 
oxygen is deficient the fishes approach the sur- 
face often to breathe. 



HOW TO MAKE AN HERBA- 
RIUM. 

THE first thing to do is to collect the plants. 
They should be carefully dug up with a trow- 
el, so as to preserve the root intact, as, to form a 
good specimen, it is necessary to have the root, 
leaves, flowers, and fruit. It also adds to the 
value of a specimen if the seedling is shown, the 



autumn tint of the leaves ; if a parasite, the 
plant on which it grows, etc. When going on a 
collecting expedition, it is a good plan to carry 
a few sheets of newspaper in a portfolio, and to 
place the plants flat between the pages as soon 
as they are dug up. If this is not convenient, 
they will keep fresh for some time if placed in a 
tin case or vasculum. To dry them, the surest 
way is, to lay them between a good many sheets 
of blotting or newspaper, with a board at the 
top and bottom of the pile, and a heavy weight 
placed on the top of all. Change the papers 
every two or three days, and take care to keep 
the plants quite flat and with a good many sheets 
of paper between them, or the thick stems will 
crumple and bend the thinner ones. The sheets 
of paper on vvhicli to mount the plants must be 
rather stout and of a uniform size — 16-J- inches 
by 10^ inches is a useful size ; but of course this 
must depend on the taste of the collector. Bot- 
anists diflfer very much as to the best method of 
attaching the specimens to the paper. Some at- 
tach them by means of strips of paper secured 
with pins, others gum or glue the specimens, 
others fasten them with gummed straps of paper, 
or sew them with a needle and thread to the 
paper. The best plan, however, is to combine 
the last three methods, and to secure plants of a 
medium size, such as the buttercup, with narrow 
gummed strips of paper; thick, woody plants, 
such as the oak, with glue; and such delicate 
plants as ferns and grasses should be tacked to 
the paper by means of a needle and thread as 
much the color of the specimen as possible. 
Weak gum may be used for the large petals of 
flowers, and for large flat leaves ; but when it is 
used the plants must be again laid under heavy 
pressure to dry, or they will shrivel. The plan 
followed in foreign herbaria is to lay the plants 
between a double sheet of paper, without fasten- 
ing them to the paper at all. When managed in 
this way they are more easily examined ; but the 
great disadvantage of this plan is that both the 
plants and their labels are very apt to become 
inserted in tlie wrong sheets among specimens 
of totally different species. 

When fastening the plants to the paper they 
should not all be an*anged precisely in the center 
of the page, but should be fastened more at the 
sides, otherwise, when the plants are laid one 
above the other, the packet will not be nearly 
flat, but will be higher in the middle than at the 
sides. With regard to the names of the plants, 
they may either be written on the sheet itself or 
on printed labels sold for the purpose. If the 
herbarium is to be an aid to the study of botany, 
and not a mere ornamental collection of gayly 
tinted plants and flowers, it will be found very 
convenient to inclose a flower, fruit, bud, etc., 



38 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



of the plant in a little envelope fastened at one 
corner of the paper, so as to avoid touching the 
rest of the plant for the purpose of examination. 
These little envelopes may be made on the same 
plan as those used by tradesmen to inclose change, 
or may simply consist of a piece of paper folded 
80 as to form a small flat case, similar to those in 
which seedsmen inclose seeds, and druggists pow- 
ders, etc. The labels must contain a brief his- 
tory of the plant, thus : its technical and com- 
mon names, habitat, by whom collected, where 
and when, and the order to which it belongs. 
After tlie plants have been fastened down and 
labeled, the next thing is to poison them, or the 
insects will soon find them out, and it will be 
observed that they show their good taste by 
feeding solely on juicy, succulent plants, scarcely 
ever touching the dry, sticky plants. The best 
poison for this purpose consists of one pound 
each of corrosive sublimate and carbolic acid to 
four gallons of methylated spirits. The great 
drawback to the preparation is its disagreeable 



smell. The plants are simply painted with it 
after or before fastening down ; if it is done be- 
fore, they require to be pressed while the poison 
is drying. The best way of preserving the color 
of flowers is to dry them quickly, either by plac- 
ing them between sheets of paper, tying them 
together firmly, and drying them near a hot fire, 
by laying them among dry sand, or by pressing 
them with a warm flat-iron. This is an excel- 
lent plan, but great care must be taken not to 
have the iron too hot, or the plants will become 
brittle. No varnishing is requisite in forming an 
herbarium ; if the plants are properly dried and 
stuck down they look better without it. When 
the plants have all been duly affixed to their re- 
spective sheets and labeled, they are ready to be 
placed in covers, so as to be handy for reference. 
Each genus should have a separate cover, which 
should be of stouter paper than that on which 
the plants are mounted. The name of the genus 
should be written distinctly in the bottom right- 
hand corner. 



ABOUT FISHING: 

TROUT-FISHING, BASS-FISHING, BLUE-FISHING, SALMON-FISHING, COD- FISHING. 

By Barnet Phillips. 



AS a grand center, whence a fisherman can 
enjoy all the delights of sport. New York 
has few equals. Good angling may be found 
not only within an hour of him, but, if he has 
time and means, in half a day, or at most two 
days, he can cast his line amid the trout in almost 
a primeval country. If he wishes to fish in his 
own country, the streams and lakes are count- 
less. If he has the impulse to seek nobler game, 
such as the salmon, the Restigouche and other 
Canadian or Provincial streams are almost as 
near to New York as Quebec. If not inclined 
to fresh- water angling, and he be desirous of 
sea-fisliing, he can find, not fifteen miles from 
New York, in ordinary seasons all the sport and 
amusement he requires. The writer of this has 
often been in doubt, through pure emharras de 
richesse, whether he would catch a striped bass 
or a bluefish, as both were possible within three 
hours' journey from his house in New York. 

To define what are game-fish is somewhat 
difficult. Those fish which are handsome to look 
upon, which take hold vigorously, which require 
skill to capture, which resist and show fight, are 
called game-fish. A trout or a salmon is con- 
sidered as representing the type of the game-fish; 
a sucker or an eel the 0])posite. There is one fish 
— 'the pike, pickerel, or the muscalonge — whose 
title to the nobility of a game-fish has been de- 



nied. Still, Professor Goode classes them among 
the game-fish of America. Those who argue 
against the gameness of the whole Esox family 
will tell you, and quite rightly : " The muscalonge 
is a craven fish. Yes, he will strike with the 
vigor of a shark ; but, once you have him on your 
squid, he gives up like a whipped hound. It is 
not'ning more than to haul him in hand over 
hand. He shows no fight. He is dead beat at 
once." A game-fish is, then, one which requires 
especially skill and judgment in the catching of 
it. Looking at the matter philosophically, it 
rather speaks to the credit of the fisherman than 
otherwise that he should make these distinctions. 
The mere pleasure of catching fish might be ac- 
complished by means of a fish-weir, if quantity 
alone were desirable. It is, then, the pleasure an 
angler feels in overcoming the wiles of the fish 
which enliances the character of his sport. 
Game-fish, in order that they should be caught, 
have called forth the ingenuity of the rod-maker. 
Man's inventive faculty, the possibility to devise 
tools which will accomplish his purpose, have 
necessarily been combined with personal dex- 
terity. There has been just as much care be- 
stowed upon a modern trout-rod to-day as on a 
Stradivarius violin in the seventeenth century. 
To accomplish the greatest amount of work with 
the lightest material and with the most elegant 



ABOUT FISHING. 



39 



form of rod, has been the happy fortune of the 
American angler in 1880. It is a bold and sweep- 
ing remark, but English rods are not so good as 
American ones. They make no i)retensions to 
elegance. They are dreadfully heavy, without 
any gain of strength. The modifications they 
have undergone, quite notable ones during the 
last eight years only, are merely such changes as 
vi^ere made by our best rod-manufacturers in 
1865, and abandoned in 1870. We Avork through 
our rough streams, both in the United States 
and in Canada, with our delicate rods, and are 
prepared to catch and land bigger fish, from a 
trout to a salmon, than are to be found in Eng- 
land, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland. Our tackle 
is lighter, stronger, and better adapted to the 



work. As to our flies, the best English lures, those 
of their crack makers, are not a whit more per- 
fect than ours. As to variety, we manufacture 
ten different kinds to their one. Here before me 
is a book of English flies, just imported. It is 
true, duty and all, they are a trifle cheaper than 
ours. But here the comparison ends. These 
English flies are dreadfully solid, too compact. 
If I used two of them, I could not, I think, throw 
them either lightly or well. Now, I may or may 
not be an adept in such things; but here is a fly 
which is handsome enough, and has not exactly 
that beefy, ponderous look which most English 
things possess. Here is my little test-piece of 
leather. I slip the bit of morocco (it has a slit 
cut in it) over the knob of a door in my room. 




Bass-Fishing in Rapids at Hell-Gate. 



I am lucky enough to be working in a fairly 
large room. I make a short cast from my six- 
and-a-half-ounce rod, and strike my leather at 
the second trial. I give a slight jerk, and out 
come all my pretty feathers and the hook, too. 
I have not struck harder than if I had hooked a 
two-pound trout. Then I remember the wail 
that Mr. Froude sent up some months ago, when 
he wrote a charming bit of liistory about the 
Russel family and fly-fishing. Though England 
might all be going wrong, his greatest complaint 
was just then in regard to the bad workmanship 
of the English fly-maker, and how his (Fronde's) 
heart was broken almost when he lost fish after 
fish, because his flies were poorly tied and fash- 
ioned. 



There can be no positive rule about the weight 
of rods. A rod is like the woman a man lives 
with, he must find one to suit himself. A rod is 
something on a par with a gun, and weigbt has 
to be considered, with only this difference, that 
you can see your bird and not your fish. You 
might be taking leisurely enough one-pound fish 
in an Adirondack lake, and your feather-weight 
rod would respond admirably to the slight strain 
put on it, when lo ! the grandfather of the Sal- 
viliuus, a five-pound fish, might fancy your fly. 
Then, if your rod be not perfect in material and 
make, you have a splintered joint, a broken rod, 
I and your day's sport is marred by the loss of the 
I crack trout of the season. Putting expensive 
1 rods in the hands of younglings is often a mis- 



40 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



take, and accidents happen; but, supposing a 
father, witli the angling instinct, is sire to a son 
with the same fancies, a tirst-class rod does no 



harm. It teaches a lad early to be deft and 
handy ; and I have found that, though my boys 
will dog-ear some of their best books, and mine 




Trolling for Blue-fish. 



too, as for that, their fine rods, after two or three 
years of work, are almost in as good order as when 
on a certain Christmas they were presented to 
them. 

With April trout-fishing commences. The 
proximity of the fishing-grounds to New York 
has been commented upon. All along Long 
Island there are fairish fishing brooks and 
creeks, belonging, however, to private persons. 
Clubs composed of gentlemen with angling pro- 
clivities frequent these grounds. We may state 
that fishing here is generally poor. It is quite 
wanting in couleur local. Fish are small. A 
one-pound fish is a marvel. This year one fine 
fish, said to have been a four-pounder, was 
caught ; but this is unusual. These creeks owe 
their fish mostly to the efforts of the fish cultur- 
ists. It may not be exactly like a battue, for the 
fish are not plenty enough for that, but still it is 
a tame affair. If the season happens to be a cold 
one, and thin ice in the streams, the sport is only 
disagreeable, without any of the pleasurable ex- 
citement one finds in the wild woods. It may be 
considered as rather the reunion of gentlemen 
who have got very tired of a winter passed at the 
clubs, and who leave their counters at the whist- 
table for a day or so, to play with the fish in the 
brooks. 

Any one, who has fished but during the brief 



holiday of a week in some of those unknown 
streams in the Adirondacks which flow between 
the Raquette and the Upper Saranac, would 
prefer one hour there to a month on Massapi- 
qua Pond in Long Island. There, in those wild 
north woods, there is perfect freedom. The 
last splotch of ink that has sullied your hand 
has been washed out, scrubbed away, as you 
plunged your hands in the silver white sands that 
border these wild streams. It is up at daybreak 
with Bill Ilartly, the guide. You carry your 
canoe one mile (you think it ten), and launch her 
in some quiet blue water, all silent save for the 
flutter of some far-distant flock of wild ducks. 
Bill (he was always a skeptic) looks askance at 
your seven-ounce rod, and slowly whistles. " He 
don't keer about fishing, but is just going to see 
you try it on with that 'ere straw-stalk of yourn.'^ 
He paddles out through the water-lilies, and is so 
clever at it that he makes no ripple. " I've seed 
a big one around here. Just you cast from thar 
toward the shore." You have taken a dull fly — 
a Quaker-gray wound with honey-yellow hackles 
with just a smatter of oriole blue — only one — and 
you swing out the line. It is a fair cast, though 
fully three yards farther than you wanted to flirt 
it. You are a little excited, and have used just a 
shade too much exertion. Well, let it go! You 
trip the fly toward you. The water is so sweet 



ABOUT FISHING. 



41 



and calm that, as your fly skips along, great oval 
swells of water with their circular films are 
formed, and cross one another. Ha! Thei-e is 
just a little boiling up there. Can it be? Up 
starts a livid bit of gold and silver: you raise your 
hand just a shade, but he will not be fooled. He 
follows, vaults four inches full out of the water, 
and takes the fly, and away he is. You let him 
have his way. It is your first fish, and you must 
get him. The reel is spinning as he tries to bolt 
for the water-lilies a hundred yards off. You 
stop him, but not too suddenly. He shakes to 
right now, then to left. But line and leader, rod 
and reel are sound, and so are you. In he comes, 
inch by inch. Bill smiles, and says, "Not a big 
one ; but he is a handsome fish." You say, 
" Pound and a half? " as Bill puts a landing-net 
under him, and Bill nods his head. You cast 
again, and in fifteen minutes you have four more 
fish, all smaller ones. It is a pleasant beginning. 
Your wife and party are at some farmhouse, ten 
miles away, and you will send the fish to her, and 
they will arrive by nightfall. You count on 
thirty fish at least. You cast, and cast, and there 
is not another fish. As the day brightens, you 
try other flies. You fish for two hours more, and 
have nothing. Bill is asleep, for the canoe is 
anchored. It is monotonous. You pull up the 
stone, and let the canoe drift. Y''ou get near the 



shore, just a good long cast to the edge of the 
lake. You silently drop the anchor, you take a 
fresh fly ; it is done with deliberation. You have 
seen General Hooker — you remember him ? Here 
is a fly called after that brave old fellow. It is 
green, with faint-yellow reflections, and a dash of 
red, and a shading of rutfed grouse. It is a trifle 
large, you think, still it looks tempting. One wing 
of the fly is a little crumpled ; you moisten your 
finger between your hps, and smooth it, and think 
of the boy's luck, and wonder how much saliva 
has to do with it. You look close at your reel. 
It is all right. It is a big cast to make. Now, Seth 
Green has taught you a trick, but not in a canoe. 
You gather yourself up, and try to throw so as 
not to rock the canoe and throw yourself out, 
nor to wake up Bill, who walked twenty-five 
miles last night to meet you. Y"ou have done it 
well. The rod responds like a bow, and out 
flows the line as cleverly as if you were a Japan- 
ese prestidigitator playing with his ribbons. It 
does fall just about where you want it. Bill is 
snoring, and is happy. Along dances the fly. 
There is now a gentle breeze, which comes sough- 
ing through the great, gaunt fir-trees. There is 
air enough to belly out your line. It works it- 
self, the fly tripping along from crest to crest. 
You let out more line. You have a very — very 
long line, and you judge that half of it is out. If 




Salmon-fishing in Canada. 



the wind keeps on, in five minutes you will be 
in the spatter-docks. Well, time enough, then. 
"Whist ! Y^ou can see a little blue swell, heaving 



up of the water 
but watchful, 
tantalize him, s 



, A fish — a fish ! Not greedy, 
Let the fly sail on. It may 
o that he may clutch it yet. 




42 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



In a minute more you will be fouled. Well, 
let us run the chanpes. But the wind dies out, 
and, as you lift the rod ever so lightly, the fly 
comes in. He has struck. It is not a vicious 
lunge, rather an unguarded snap, but he smarts 
with the hook. He is an old fellow, up to all 
kinds of dodges ; has lived there about those reeds 
for years, and will play you a trick. That he is 
a big one you are sure. You never can let him 
have all that line. He is mad now, and you have 
to hold him. You have been dancing in tliat 
boat, and Bill wakes, sees the situation at once, 
and takes to the paddles. " A whacker ! " says 
Bill, sententiously. " Take the canoe in not more 
than three lengths, and hold her there ! " you cry. 
Working on the reel slowly, cautiously, you get 
nearer to him. Now he is for the weeds again; 
fortunately he don't jerk, but pulls steady like a 
horse. He finds it is of no use, so he suddenly 
darts to the right, slanting off" for the shore. He 
comes so fast that, with a little slant upward 
{when you check him to the left of the boat), you 
see a superb head and a bit of the dorsal fin. 
Now he sulks, getting his wind, and Bill looks 
slightingly at the rod, which is quivering in your 
hand : " It's a baby thing, nary good." " It is the 
best rod in the world, and I will get that fish," you 
cry angrily, for your blood is up. He zigzags, 
but has given up his bolts toward shore. You 
will have your hands full for a half-hour. The 
line twangs at times, and, as he stops fighting, 
just as suddenly is limp again. He must be kept 
tight hauled all the time. Though he is dogged 
still, you rule his destinies. Bill is all excitement, 
and has been fingering the landing-net for some 
time. At last, when you have him only a canoe- 
length distance from you, there comes the final 
combat. He has been saving himself for this. 
Nothing but a good rod, taxed to its utmost 
capacity, could have saved that fish. It fairly 
buckles as the fish tries to get under and past 
the canoe. If he does that, you are gone. Give 
him all the butt you can, and hold so tight, 
that the wrapping on the last joint of bamboo 
splint marks the palm of the hand. He is stopped, 
and is docile, lamb-like now. Bill has the anchor 
up, and paddles along now slowly, but it is not 
necessary. " Bully rod, mister," he says, "and 
I wouldn't have believed it." " And nothing 
about the fisherman ? " you ask. " It's the rod," 
says Bill. The trout is yours. He comes up slow- 
ly, quite exhausted. Bill can almost put his fin- 
gers in his gills, but he has him in the landing- 
net. " He is five pounds full, and the biggest fish 
of this year! " cries Bill. " Five pounds? He is 
six! Here, Bill, in that coat, left-hand pocket, is 
a spring balance: weigh that beauty." '"Most 
five and a half pounds," cries Bill. This is fish- 
ing — only a page taken from a book kei)t of 



such exploits, more to note excellence of rod 
than with any attempt to extol personal skill. 

Trout-fishing has its delights, but hardly less 
so are those of bass-fishing. I can speak of the 
pleasures of striped - bass fishing oflP Newport, 
though of late all good places have been so pre- 
empted that it is ditficult to get a locality for love 
or money. It is the noblest of American sjjorts, 
and the most exciting, requiring great skill — I 
think even greater skill than for the salmon. You 
want for the Roccus lineatus the best of rods, but 
not a delicate one — not a rapier, nor exactly a 
broadsword. About an eight-foot rod is ample. 
It must be fairly stiff", capable of standing a great 
strain, with a line of fully four hundi-ed feet in 
length. Every thing about this tackle must be 
of the best, with a reel that works on agates. 
You may use a live squid, or a sand-eel, or a bit 
of bass-skin. If you know how, you can throw 
your line out one hundred feet — I have seen it 
more than once thrown one hundred and fifty. 
If he feels like it, the striped bass is a ferocious 
biter ; and, once he has the hook, from his size, 
and the strength of the jaws, he is not likely 
to tear away. But for long manoeuvring, for 
watchfulness, for steady tugging, for give and 
take, for courage and endurance, the striped bass, 
as a game-fish, stands the first. There is a capri- 
ciousness about a trout or a salmon which a 
striped bass does not possess. He fights from 
the very instant he is struck, and has no give up 
in him. I do not take kindly to spinners, metal- 
lic baits, as I have never seen them bring in big 
fish. I have, watch in hand, counted fifty min- 
utes of hard fight between the striped bass and 
an adept angler, and he one of the most adroit 
fishermen I have ever known. 

It is in blue-fish that New-Yorkers can in- 
dulge the most readily. Last season was a par- 
ticularly bad one, as the Pomatomus saltatrix was 
not abundant. The most pleasant way to go blue- 
fishing is in a sail-boat. Vast schools of blue- 
fish, which eat up their weight almost every day 
in other fish, flock on shore after the shiners and 
moss-bunkers, and thus fall victims to their own 
greed. It is about August that the blue-fish may 
be found from Chesapeake Bay up to Vineyard 
Sound, Nantucket. In October he will weigh ten, 
even twelve pounds. Your squid or jig has a 
Avhite rag tied to it, and, as your boat moves 
along Avith the wind, your line trailing away far 
behind you, the greedy fish strikes. A six-knot 
breeze is fast enough. You want for this fishing, 
if it is active, rubber finger-stalls, or your fingers 
will be lacerated. Be careful how you take your 
fish from the hook when you have him, for, if he 
sets his teeth in your fingers, vou will be pretty 
sure to feel it. It is a goodly sport, requiring no 
special skill, when hand-lines are used ; but, 



ABOUT FISHING. 



43 



when it comes to rod-fishing, that is a different 
thing. It is then the jolliest of sports. Use an 
eight-foot rod and a stiff one, for the Pomato- 
rmis is a vigorous fish, and will smash your ele- 
gant trout-rod into smithereens. He is a game 
fish, and fully entitled to the name. Ahout this 
same time, the weak-fish, the squeteague (the Cy- 
noscion regalis), also affords ample sport. With 
the tide they come in to the Narrows, and of a 
good day you can catch many of them near Fort 
Richmond. Some fish with rods and tackle, and 
four-pounders sometimes turn up. Off Fire 
Island, at half-ebh, you can catch him with a 
hand-line and a squid, and glorious sport it is. 

Another fish is the kingfish, by far the most 
delicate of our table-fish. You can use for the 



kingfish a three-jointed rod of ten feet long ; you 
want a sinker which will withstand the sweep 
of the tide. A shedder-crab a kingfish espe- 
cially loves ; when he is hooked he works differ- 
ently from most other fish. He will hurry far 
away under the water, and suddenly break when 
seventy-five feet away. He is a sturdy fighter, 
and, though a three- or four-pound fish is a very 
large one, he will have a tussle with you of an 
hour. 

As to salmon-fishing and choice of rod, I 
want to fish with a twenty-foot rod, and not 
with one an inch less. I want to cast in impos- 
sible places. I can scramble on a rock and sight 
a pool below, yet can not get within twenty 
yards of it with a short pole. I must take every 




Cod-lishing. 



advantage of the situation. Nature makes the 
salmon-streams wild and brawling, and the shores 
inaccessible. You can't keep dropping your fly, 
and teasing salmon as you do trout. He takes it 
at once or not at all. Keep on sweeping with a 
long rod as you would for trout, and in a short 
time you tire of it. It is the play, the headlong 
dash of the salmon, that fatigues you, but when 
rest comes it is a glorious lassitude. You want 
a braided silk line, water-proofed for this fishing, 
and it must be sound, or good-by to your fish. 
You look at a Gaspe district fisherman, and be 
sure he knows what he is about. His rod is a 
New York one — though he lives in Montreal — 
but it is as perfect as can be. It is just as long 
as an English rod, but is a full three eighths of a 



pound lighter, which is an immense advantage. 
That reel of his is not an ounce too light, though 
it does assume horological proportions. I think 
fancy flies for salmon-fishing, have gone very 
much out of repute of late days. There is a cer- 
tain fly, "the Nicholson," that is said to have 
especial charms. I do not think there is any very 
great difference between a trout and a salmon 
fly, save that the latter must be the larger. A 
great many flies for both trout and salmon fish- 
ing are made pretty, rather as ornaments than 
for actual use. An elaborate, gaudy fly, save on 
special occasions, when the day is very dark, I 
have thought, frightened all the flsh that swam 
in those deep pools of the Nipisiquit, Restigouohe 
or Cascapediac Rivers. It is not all of us who 



44 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



have either the time or the money to spend, both 
of which are necessary, and specially much of the 
latter, for salmon-fishing. Still, for those who 
can afford it, it is a noble sport, but not any bet- 
ter than striped-bass fishing. 

There is one kind of fishing which New- 
Yorkers should be acquainted with. It is perhaps 
the sole one which removes a man entirely from 
his surroundings and makes' him live a new life. 
Such a happy change is not difficult to procure, 
nor is it expensive. It is rough, it is true, but it 
has its natural charm. Go codfishing — not for 
yourself, but for a market. This opportunity, 
by a little adroit management, you can obtain at 
any time. Every two or three times a week, 
during the fall, there leaves from the Fulton 
Market slip a smack going out to Vineyard 
Sound and Nantucket for cod and haddock. En- 
gage passage on board. The cost is slight. You 
may, if you are an epicurean, send on board a 
dozen claret, a ham, and some canned meats ; but 
these are not necessities. You will be almost cer- 
tain to find everything clean and sweet on board. 
You take your oldest clothes and stow away your 
razor. You are to rough it for a week or ten 
days. You can have a good berth, and the most 
honest and simple of fare. Off you go, and pass 
rapidly through the Sound. Ten to one your 
smack is a clipper, and nothing but a yaclit can 
catch her. By and by you make Point Judith, 
and in a day more you are off Nantucket. Away 
you bowl along, cross the tides which swirl 
through the Sound there, and you are on the cod- 
banks. Now the fun begins. As fast as you 
can open your clams, you must bait your line, 
heavy with a two-pound sinker. You have two, 
three hooks, and down she goes. You fish at 
thirty fathoms, maybe sixty. There is a tug — a 
slight one. You haul up, and find an ugly dog- 
fish ! The boat's crew smile. You are too much 
on the bottom. You will get the hang of it after 
a while. Better luck next time. Another clam 
or two on your hook, and you are at it once 
more. Up again comes your line. You have 
just touched bottom, and you have two codfish. 
One is a fifteen-pound fish, the other ten. They 
do not struggle, but come up even light, at least in 
your excitement you think so. You take them off, 
and, while you have been doing this, your neigh- 
bor the captain has caught ten fish. And so it 
goes on. You fish until your arm aches. There 
are muscles in the hand that you have never before 
this called into play ; a special lot of cords, be- 
longing to your anatomy, i"un along your forearm. 



which before this you were ignorant about. Your 
hand begins to swell, from absolute overwork. 
Still, you are excited and keep at it. You drop 
your line after a while, having caught in an 
hour and a half thirty fish, certainly two hundred 
pounds dead-weight, and now you recognize 
what really hard work it is; but you enjoy it. 
Soon a beautiful phenomenon takes place. A 
soft, downy fog settles on the ocean. You can 
hear the birds — the gulls — squawk, but can not 
see them. In the distance you listen to the chat- 
ter of voices — a laugh — the beating of a tin pan. 
It is a neighboring craft, though you can not see 
her. All is quiet and subdued-like. The deck 
is now fairly littered with fish. They are flapping 
all around you. Here come haddock tumbling 
on board. You must have a haddock. You look 
at your hand, which hurts ; but you try it again, 
and two haddock come up at every haul. After 
you have caught a half dozen at three hauls, you 
remember your hand and give it up. Ah ! what 
has your neighbor got? He gives a steady pull, 
and it is all he can do to keep at it. He beckons 
to a fisherman, who seems to understand what is 
the matter at once. Tlie captain gives the man 
his line, and goes for a good stout stick of wood 
with a strong steel hook in it. Can that be a 
gaff? Now the fisherman works for ten minutes 
on that fish, or whatever it is. Maybe he is pull- 
ing up the sea-bottom ! No ! now, as you look 
over the taffrail, you see a huge white surface, 
like a big sheet of paper, coming up. Now it 
turns, and is black — now it is white. His head 
is above water. You know now it is a halibut. 
The captain makes a lunge at him with the hook ; 
two men get hold of the wood of the gaff, and 
he is lugged on board ; and for the first time 
alive (or rather in a comatose condition, for no 
sooner is he on board, than the handle of the 
gaff is given him with a heavy blow across the 
head) you see the Ripjwglossus Americanus. It 
is a big one, will turn the scales at ninety pounds, 
and he is a white one, and quite a find. Your 
captain says: "We catch them occasionally, but 
they are small, chicken-halibut. This would 
be a fair halibut for the Georges." A week 
passes in this sport: You go to your bunk tired 
out, and sleep as you never slept before. You 
forget newspapers and books, and are happy 
because neither letters nor telegraphic dispatches 
can reach you. If the sport tires you, there are 
every day craft within call, going to Nantucket 
or Gloucester or New Bedford, and you can be 
in New York within ten hours. 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 



45 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 




Day-Boat on the Hudson. 

THE fault commonly found with American 
scenery by traveled foreigners is that in its 
grander aspects, especially in the far West, its 
wildness is almost terrible, while in its gentler 
phases its unkempt ruggedness repels the admi- 
ration whicli its picturesque beauty might other- 
wise excite. To such criticism, however, the 
Hudson River is always confessed to be an en- 



tire and most striking exception. Many, in- 
deed, are willing to admit that, in varied and 
picturesque charm, it excels the world-famous 
Rhine ; and one who has seen both lias not 
hesitated to record the opinion that " the 
Rhine is monotonous compared with the 
Hudson. Its course," he adds, " is winding, 
but its shores are uniform in character, and 
the hills are denuded of trees, while the river 
has not that varying succession of broad ex- 
panse and narrow pass that gives to the Hud- 
son a peculiar and untiring charm." Still more 
emphatic is the testimony of Mr. George 
William Curtis: "The Danube," he says, "has 
in part glimpses of sucli grandeur, the Elbe 
has sometimes such delicately-penciled ef- 
fects ; but no European river is so lordly in 
its bearing — none flows in such state to the 
sea." 

The surpassing beauty of the Hudson, indeed, 
cannot be gainsaid; and it is beautiful under any 
of its aspects. Seen by soft moonlight from one 
of the spacious "night-boats" whicli ply in sum- 
mer between the metropolis and Albany, one can 
hardly resist the conviction that its weird and 



46 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



supernatural charm can not possibly be repeated 
under the garish light of day ; and yet, to see it 




ly granted, will endeavor to add to his enjoyment 
by pointing out, not too obtrusively, the more 
salient features of the double panorama which 
will speedily begin to unfold itself. 

Seated now in our chosen positions, secured 
by being early on board, we tui-n from the arid 
defiles of the city streets and the serried ranks 
of houses; and, looking out upon the broad, pal- 
pitating river, we remind our companion that he 
is viewing, perhaps, the most animated harbor- 
scene in the world. Nowhere, we assure him, 
can be seen such a picturesque variety of craft, 
from the huge steamships that link the Old 
World with the New, down to the snorting, rest- 
less little tug-boats and the diminutive yachts and 
pleasure-boats, a unique feature being given to 
the whole by the uncouth ferry-boats swing- 
ing irom shore to shore, and the great tows 
of canal boats and barges. 





>:^'^ 



^' 



The Palisades and Palisade Mountain-House 



=^50,'- 



■-'a - . 



to advantage for the first time, 
the tourist should take one ot 
the morning-boats, whose sump- 
tuous appointments go far to 
justify the epithet of " floating- 
palaces " so often applied to American liver- 
craffc. On a midsummer's day, when the great 
city about to be left behind is panting and 
reeking in its stifling atmosphere, the cool, aro- 
matic breath of the river seems to be wafted 
straight from the "Isles of the Ble>t"; and the 
umbrageous green of its banks invites eye and 
mind to serene enjoyments and contemplative 
repose. 

Supposing the tourist to have consigned him- 
self to one of these day-boats, and secured a good 
position on the forward- deck, whence both shores 
can be seen at a glance, we will ask permission 
to accompany him, and, if the permission be kind- 




^^'^^'^, 



% 



'>:rz 



For the first few minutes after starting, the 
western or Jersey shore is decidedly the more 
interesting. Far down at the mouth of the river 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 



47 



are the clustering houses of 
Jersey City. A little near- 
er is the village of Hoboken, 
where the bank rises steep- 
ly, crested in the fore- 
ground with the Stevens 
mansion on Castle Hill. Ad- 
joining it, on the summit 
of the heights, are the famed 
Elysian Fields, which are 
rapidly losing their elysian 
character ; and then come 
the Weehawken liills, at the 
base of which Burr put a 
nation in mourning by his 
murderous duel with Alex- 
ander Hamilton. The wood- 
ed quiet of these hills is 
grateful to the eye after the 
glare and tumult of the city, 
but, turning for a moment 
to the New York shore, we 
observe with interest the 
dense lines of piers and 
warehouses which testify 
to the presence of one' of 
the great commercial marts 
of the world. 

Even while we look, the 
scene changes; the houses 
of the city become more 
scattered, the attention is 
caught for a moment by the 
spacious edifice of the Or- 
phan Asylum at Manhattan- 
ville, and then the eye rests 
with pleasure upon the tree- 
clad Washington Heights, 
crowned with the lofty Deaf 
and Dumb Asylum and cov- 
ered with the beautiful vil- 
las of wealthy New-York- 
ers. Here the city prop- 
erly ends, though its "le- 
gal limit " is still far above ; 
and here the characteristic 
features of the river scenery 
may be said to begin. 

Opposite the Washing- 
ton Heights, on the other 
bank of the river, is the pic- 
turesque promontory still 
called Fort Lee from its 
Revolutionary associations, 
but now completely denuded of its warlike 
aspects and become one of the most popular 
pleasure-resorts of the metropolis. At this 
point begin the Palisades, a continuous wall of 
nearly perpendicular* cliffs from 300 to 600 feet 




in height which line the western bank of the 
rivei* for nearly twenty miles, and form one of 
the most striking features of its scenery. While 
the face of the clitis is bare and rugged, the sum- 
mit is thickly wooded, and consists of a level ta- 



48 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



ble-land, not more than three quarters of a mile 
wide in some places, separating the Hudson from 
the Hackensack Valley. About four miles above 
Fort Lee the Palisade Mountain-House crowns a 
tall escarpment of the cliff, and here and there 
cottages and villas peep through the trees of the 
plateau ; but in general the solitude is unbroken, 
and the precipice, as viewed from the steamer, 
looks as lonely and desolate as the cliffs of the 
Saguenay. 

After gazing for a time upon this silent pro- 
cession of cliffs, oue is apt to declare it to be 
monotonous and forbidding; and yet if we use 
our eyes to any purpose we are isompelled to 
admit that, aside from its own wild and austere 
beauty, it serves as an admirable foil to the soft- 
er and more civilized scenery of the other shore. 
The eastern river-bank, indeed, for upward of 
thirty miles, might fairly be described as a con- 



tinuous suburb of New York, whose citizens have 
crested its hills with innumerable villas and cot- 
tages, and whose wealth has converted its undu- 
lating and tree-clad slopes into an almost contin- 
uous panorama of the most exquisitely kept lawns 
and gardens. Here and there, at frequent inter- 
vals, the houses cluster into villages and hamlets, 
and at Yonkers and Tarrytown the dimensions 
of considerable towns are attained ; but even the 
towns do not lose the rural and verdurous aspect 
which pervades the whole, and the largest of 
them reminds us quite as much of a park as of a 
city. 

The first town seen after leaving the city is 
Riverdale, which is simply a group of elegant 
mansions without a shop or other common fea- 
ture to mar its aristocratic exclusiveness. Just 
above, between it and Yonkers, is Mount St. Vin- 
cent, from the crest of which the vast, bare 




Croton Point. 



building of the convent-school of the Sisters of 
Charity stares down upon the river. Adjoining 
this building and completely dwarfed by it is 
the -quaint castellated stone structure known as 
" Fonthill," formerly the residence of Edwin For- 
rest, the tragedian. Although now seen at a 
disadvantage, it could never have been a very 
pleasing because incongruous feature of the scene 
amid which it is placed. Much more attractive, 
because more obviously harmonious with the life 
and habits of the people, are the villas and man- 
sions which occupy every advantageous spot upon 
the shore in this vicinity, and some of which are 
really imposing by reason of their size and situa- 
tion, if not for any special architectural merit. 

A few miles ahove Yonkers, on the same side, 
is the pretty town of Hastings-upon-the-Hudson, 
near which is the stately old Livingston Manor- 
House, renowned as one of the oldest residences 
in the valley, as the headquarters for a time of 



Washington, and as the scene of the ofiicial con- 
ferences about the British evacuation of New 
York in 1783. Opposite Hastings, at Indian Head, 
the Palisades reach their most picturesque point; 
and a short distance above, at Piermont, where 
a pier nearly a mile long extends from the west- 
ern bank into the river, they end, or rather re- 
cede from the shore and cease to form one of the 
features of the river-scenery. At this point, too, 
the river broadens into a noble bay, ten miles 
long and two to five miles wide, known and re- 
nowned as the Tappan Zee. 

As the steamer plows its way toward the mid- 
dle of this lake-like expanse, the scene on either 
hand is most beautiful. On the western margin 
extends a line of undulating, richly-wooded hills, 
at the foot of which nestles the picturesque town 
of Nyack. On the eastern shore, which rises by 
long, receding slopes to the height of two or 
three hundred feet, are the prosperous villages of 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSOK 



49 



Irvington, Tarrytown, 
and Sing Sing, while 
costly villas and other 
residences are excep- 
tionally numerous on 
the intervening hills. 
Just below Irvington, 
the classic portico of 
Nevis, the home of the 
Hamiltons, and the stri- 
king Cottinet mansion, 
built of Caen stone in 
the Renaissance style, 
are passed. A little 
above Irvington and 
near the river, though 
hidden from view by 
the dense growth of 
trees and shrubbery, 
is Sunnyside, which as 
the home of Washing- 
ton Irving has become 
famous the world over, 
and which is now one 
of the classic spots of 
American literature. 
Still above and close 
at hand are the man- 
sions of Bierstadt, Wil- 
liam E. Dodge, Cyrus 
W. Field, and other 
wealthy citizens of Kew 
York. Near the shore 
is seen the tapering 
tower of Cunningham 
Castle ; while on a con- 
spicuous promontory 
just below Tarrytown 
is the Paulding Manor, 
one of the finest speci- 
mens of the Tudor style 
of architecture in the 
country. Tarrytown 
and its vicinity are 
perennially interesting 
from their intimate as- 
sociation with the life 
and genius of Irving 
and with memorable 
events connected with 
the Revolutionary 
struggle. Above Ny- 
ack, on the western 

shore, the Palisades come down once more to j ing Sing Sing a fine view is obtained of the mas- 
the river-edge, and form a high and precipi- ' sive stone buildings composing the famous Peni- 
tous bluff which bears the name of Verdrietigh ' tentiary. 

Hook — also called Point-no-Point, owing to its At the upper end of the Tappan Zee the river 

deceptive appearance, when seen from the river ' narrows sharply, and the vine-clad Croton Point 
above or below, of a grand headland. In pass- separates the Tappan Zee from Haverstraw Bay, 
4 




50 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




which is another lake-like widening of the river, 
with the village of Haverstraw on its western 
shore and a long line of white limestone cliffs 
producing a million bushels of lime every year. 
As the steamer crosses this beautiful bay, the 
Highlands begin to loom up boldly in the dis- 
tance ; and at its upper end, where Verplanck's 



Point on the east and 
the historic Stony 
Point on the west con- 
tract the river to a 
comparatively narrow 
channel, their forms 
and outlines have be- 
come quite distinct. 

We are now at the 
entrance to the High- 
lands, and, in face of 
the scenery which be- 
gins to present itself, 
the attention of the 
tourist will hardly be 
secured for the Eev- 
olutionary memories 
which cling about all 
this region; even the 
famous exploit of 
"Mad" Anthony 
AVayne in capturing 
the fort of Stony 
Point, beld by a su- 
f perior force, at the 
I point of the bayonet 
J and without firing a 
- shot, will be apt to 
awaken but a languid 
interest ; and Peeks- 
kill will be regarded 
with a similar apathy, 
though we assure him 
that it is one of the 
prettiest and most 
romantically situated 
towns on the Hudson. 
The very steamer 
seems to be conscious 
of the superior inter- 
est and beauty ot the 
scenery to which it 
is approaching, and, 
turning swiftly into 
that sudden bend of 
the river to the west, 
known as "The Race,'* 
hastens with eagerness 
toward the Dunder- 
berg or Thunder 
Mountain, whose pre- 
cipitous front almost 
overhangs the water on the left, while the loftier 
peak of Anthony's Nose (1,128 feet high) con- 
fronts it on the right, and forms the twin out- 
post of the Highland region on the south. At 
the base of Dunderberg is a broad and deep 
stream known as Montgomery Creek, on either 
side of which in Revolutionary times stood Forts 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 



51 



Montgomery and Clin- 
ton to protect the 
boom and iron chain 
which were stretched 
here across the river 
in an unsuccessful at- 
tempt to arrest the 
progress of the Brit- 
ish tieet. Just above 
Dunderberg, near the 
mouth of the Forest- 
of-Dean Creek, is the 
grape-abounding lona 
Island, a favorite pic- 
nic resort, three hun- 
dred acres in extent, 
and containing exten- 
sive vineyards. 

Following the river 
now in its curve to 
the northeast, a fine 
view is obtained on 
the right of the sym- 
metrical cone of Sug- 
ar-Loaf Mountain (865 
feet high), at the foot 
of which, in a small 
cove, is seen Beverly 
Dock, and near it Bev- 
erly House, where the 
traitorous Benedict 
Arnold was breakfast- 
ing when news came 
to him of Andre's ar- 
rest, and whence he 
fled to the British ves- 
sel anchored in the 
stream below. From 
this point also a di' 
tant view is obtains 
of the ruins of Fo 
Putnam, of Revoli 
tionary fame, crowi 
ing the heights on tl 
left, and a short di 
tance above, also c 
the left, we come i 
sight of Buttermi] 
Falls, descending ovi 
inclined ledges a di 
tance of one hundrt^ 
feet, and forming at 

times a fine cascade, though the heats of summer 
are apt to dwindle it to insignificance. On the 
summit of the cliff" above is the spacious Coz- 
zens's Hotel, one of tlie favorite summer retreats 
of pleasure-seeking New-Yorkers. 

Just beyond Cozzens's, on an elevated plateau 
in the heart of the Highland Pass, is West Point, 




/ 



the site of the great military school of the Re- 
public, and one of the most picturesque spots in 
America. From the pier where the steamer 
pauses for a brief interval, all that can be seen is 
the dusty road liewcd out of the cliff-side, and 
leading by a gentle grade to the plateau above, 
where tantalizing glimpses are obtained of spa- 



52 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



clous buildings and grassy slopes ; but, if the 
tourist should take our urgent advice and stop 
over for a day or two, he will be suryirised at the 
romantic charm and varied fascinations of the 
locality. If so inclined, he can examine into the 
organization and discipline of the military school ; 
can see the morning roll-call and the evening 
dress-parade; can pass a fruitful hour or two in 
the Library, the Observatory, the Picture-Gal- 
lery, or the curious Museum of Ordnance and 
Trophies ; and at tiie proper hours can amuse 
himself with the cavalry exercises in the Riding 
Hall. When the interest of these is exhausted, 
he can wander over the spacious parade-ground, 
smooth as a lawn, level as a floor, and command- 
ing at every point novel and beautiful views ; can 
search out the romantic and sequestered nooks, 
such as Kosciusko's Garden and Flirtation Walk ; 
can ascend the winding path to the picturesque 
Cemetery ; and, by climbing still higher, can ob- 
tain from the crumbling ramparts of Fort Put- 



nam a view the memory of which shall remain 
with him as long as he retains a taste for the 
grand and beautiful in scenery. If his visit 
happen to occur at the time of year (July or 
August) when the cadets are in cantonments, 
the social gayeties of a summer resort will be 
added to the other attractions of the place ; and, 
however exaggerated may have been the praises 
of West Point that he has heard, he will be apt 
to admit that the reality surpasses any anticipa- 
tions they may have raised. 

As we have already said, West Point is only 
half-way through 'the Pass of the Highlands, and 
some of its grandest features, as viewed from the 
steamer, remain to be seen. Just above West 
Point, on the same side, is Cro' Nest, one of the 
loftiest of the Highland group (1,428 feet high), 
and still above is Storm King (formerly known 
as "Butter Hill "), which is 1,529 feet high, and 
the last of the range upon the left. Between 
Cro' Nest and Storm King, and in the laps of 




The Catskill Mountains. 



both, lies the lovely Vale of Tempe ; and oppo- 
site, on the other side of the river, is the pictu- 
resque village of Cold Spring, from which a noble 
view is obtained of the heights across the river. 
Behind Cold Spring rises the massive granite 
crown of Mount Taurus, which is a modern 
euphemism for " Bull Hill " ; and on an elevated 
plateau a little to the north is Undercliff, the 
home of the late George P. Morris, the poet and 
journalist. Immediately above are the jagged 
precipices of Breakneck Hill, which is 1,187 feet 
high, and .vhich terminates the range on the east 
side. Traversing the narrow channels between 
this height and Storm King opposite, the steamer 
passes Cornwall Landing, on the west, the most 
frequented summer resort on the river, with fine 
scenery and drives above upon the Terrace ; and 
enters upon tlie broad expanse of Newburgh Bay, 
whence the view back toward the Highlands is 
singularly impressive. 

After the unapproachable beauty of the High- 



lands, the scenery of the upper river will be apt 
to seem tame and uninviting ; yet there are por- 
tions of it which but for the superior glories of 
the renowned Pass would be expected to arouse 
the enthusiastic admiration of the beholder. For 
more than fifty miles above the Highlands, the 
river-banks on either hand are high and varied, 
rising here into bold and sweeping hills, and 
dropping there into gentle, verdure-clad slopes, 
many of which are still crested with stately 
villas, while picturesque towns nestle at their 
base or look down from the sunmiit of the pla- 
teau. Some of the handsomest and most pop- 
ulous places along the river are to be found on 
this portion, such as Newburgh, rising in ter- 
raced lines on the west side of Newburgh Bay ; 
Poughkeepsie, the largest city between New 
York and Albany, built on an elevated plain 200 
feet above the river, with a background of high 
hills ; Fishkill, a pleasant village opposite New- 
burgh, on the east side of the Bay ; Hyde Park, 



A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 



53 







a high-lying village above 
PoughkeepMe, nestling 
amid tree-5, the bn^} com- 
mercial cities of Rondout 
and Kingston, lying close 
to each other on the west 
shore ; and Rhinebeck 
Landing, opposite King''- 
ton, where is the an- ^ , 
cient Beekman House, 
nearly two hundred years 
old, and the best speci- 
men of an old Dutch 
homestead to be found 
in the valley of the Hud- 
son. 

Nor is the more dis- 
tant landscape unworthy of 
the immediate foreground. 
Immediately upon leaving the 
Highlands and entering New- 
burgh Bay, far away to the 
west are seen the Shaw an- 
gunk Mountains, stretching 
northward in a dim blue line ; 
while to the northeast are 
the Matteawan Mountains, the 
dominating peak of which 
(the New Beacon) commands 
a magnificent view, extending 
even to New York City. 
Poughkeepsie has been left 
behind but a few miles when 
a first glimpse is obtained of 
the blue peaks of the Cats- 
kills on the northwest; and from this point 
to Hudson, a distance of thirty miles, an almost 
continuous panorama of majestic mountain-sce- 
nery, to which distance seems only to lend en- 
chantment, may be enjoyed. 

Beyond Hudson, which is a flourishing city on 
the east side, one hundred and fifteen miles from 
New York, the scenery is flat and monotonous, 
and nothing demanding notice presents itself 
until the steeple-crowned heights of Albany 
announce the approaching termination of a 




Source of the Hudson. 

voyage which, if taken for the first time, must 
prove a memorable event in the life of the 
traveler. 

At Troy, six miles above Albany, tide-water 
ends, and above this the Hudson is a rapid, rocky 
river, navigable only by sloops and smaller craft. 
By taking the railway to Glenn's Falls, however, 
on the road to Lake George, the tourist may see 
the river again in one of its more picturesque 
aspects, where, as a brawling mountain-torrent, 
it rushes in a series of tumultuous rapids and 



54 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



cascades down eighty feet of stony and precipi- 
tous descent. And if, leaving railways and 
steamboats far behind, he place himself face to 
face with Nature in the Adirondacks, there, in 
the inmost heart of that lonely wilderness, in the 
stupendous gorge known as the Indian Pass, in 
whose cold depths the ice of winter never melts 
entirely away — there, in a crystal spring whose 
waters trickle waveringly tiirough dim crevices 
and plash softly on the stones, he will find the 



" Source of the Hudson." — What a contrast 
does the vision bring up ! At one end a crys- 
talline spring where the wolf, the wolverene, 
the wild-cat, and the panther quench their 
thirst; at the other, only three hundred miles 
away, a noble river, bearing upon its opulent 
bosom the commerce of a continent ! Such 
is the Hudson; and from one of its extremes to 
the other the tourist can pass in the space of for- 
ty-eight hours. 



THE THOUSAND ISLANDS 



AS SEEN BY AN ENGLISHMAN. 



MY wife and I are camping out for a fort- 
night among the Thousand Islands. Our 
friend the Colonel has offered us the hosi^itality 
of his steam-yacht and his hut ; so here we are, 
on a charming little domain of four hundred 
yards square, living the primitive life of squaws 
and braves — fishing, sliooting, boating, swim- 
ming, and flirting unconscionably — in total ob- 
livion of Pall Mall or Piccadilly, and ready to 
fling politics and propriety, like physic, to the 
dogs. And this is how we have got here : 

Our friend the Colonel is a compagnon de voy- 
age, whom we picked up in the Clifton House at 
Niagara. He does not seem to be a military man, 
but apparently holds his title as a sort of brevet 
rank. He lives at Detroit, so he tells us ; and, 
from hints which various other members of our 
little party let drop from time to time, I strongly 
suspect that the Colonel's true vocation lies 
rather in the dry-goods line. However, our host 
has plenty of money, a pretty little steam-yacht, 
and an island of his own among the fiimous thou- 
sand ; so the only wonder is that he has not long 
since been elevated into a general or a judge. 
Handles to one's name go cheap in republican 
America, and every man with five hundred a 
year or upward receives honorary promotion as 
captain or commodore at least. 

The Colonel is hospitality itself. We wan- 
dered about Niagarii for a week with him and 
Mrs. Colonel (such a style of address is de rigveur 
in transatlantic society) ; and at the end of that 
short acquaintance the good soul positively in- 
sisted that we should accompany bis party to tlie 
Thousand Islands, and become members of a 
camping-out expedition. For all he knows, we 
may be bank-swindlers or pickpockets ; nay, 
worse, he may be introducing into the bosom of 
Ins family a pair of Englisli runaways, anxious 
to avail themselves of the easy deliverance afford- 
ed by the divorce courts of Illinois ; yet he ac- 
cepts lis unhesitatingly, on our own authority, as 



mere traveling Britishers on a scientific mission, 
desirous of seeing as much of America as we con- 
veniently can in a three months' trip. Upon my 
word, good, kindly Western brethren, when I be- 
think me of your warm hearts and your childlike 
confidence, I feel ashamed of myself for some- 
times hinting that your voices sound a trifle 
nasal, and that your manners smack a trifle of 
the aboriginal backwoodsman. 

But what and where are the Thousand Isl- 
ands ? asks my country reader. Now, dear 
reader, don't be angry because I have found you 
out. Confess that you have only the very hazi- 
est notion of where this delightful region may 
be, and I will confess to you in turn that I had 
not the slightest idea myself until I came here. 
Which of us knows anything about geography 
except by traveling? We have a clear concep- 
tion as to the whereabout of Paris, and Brus- 
sels, and Cologne, and Milan, and Naples, be- 
cause we have all been tliere ; but can you an- 
swer me whether Delhi is on the Ganges or the 
Jumna, and whether it lies to the north or to the 
sonth of Agra? In what State of the Union is 
Chicago, and on which of the Great Lakes does 
it stand ? You know yon can't tell me ; and I 
couldn't have told you three or four years ago. 
In topographical matters seeing is believing ; for 
eyes, as good old Herodotus puts it, happen to 
be better witnesses among men than ears. So 
allow me first to tell you what and where these 
Thousand Islands are, and then I shall try to 
picture for you our life in their midst. 

Just at the point where Lake Ontario emp- 
ties its waters into the great river St. Law- 
rence, a barrier of granite rock bars its course. 
Through the grooves and depressions in this 
rock tlie river winds its way by a hundred dif- 
ferent channels ; while all the higher masses rise 
above the surface of the water as tiny islets, 
crowned with brushwood and Canadian pines. 
Ages ago, during the great glacial period, the ice 



THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 



55 



wore down the summits of these rocky bosses 
into smooth, rounded domes ; and now they ap- 
pear upon the river's edge like basking whales 
or huge elephants' backs. You may trace the 
markings of the glacier on the scratched and 
worn granite, just as you may trace it on the 
roches moidonnees of Swiss valleys, or on the 
grand slopes of our own Llanberis and Aber- 
glasllyn. Sometimes the water has washed 
away the side into a mimic cliff; but, more 
often, the rounded boss rises in a gentle curve 
above the blue waves, showing its red seamed 
structure near the edge, and covered toward its 
summit by mold, on which grow low bushes or 
tall and stately trees. 

Some of the islands are big enough to afford 
farms for the industrious squatter, who has 
made himself a title by the simple act of set- 
tling down bodily on his appropriated realm. 
Others, however, are mere points of granite, on 
which a single pine maintains a struggling ex- 
istence against wave in summer and ice-floe in 
winter; while not a few consist only of a bare, 
rocky hog's back, just raised an inch or two 
above the general level of the water. But the 
most wonderful point of all is their number. 
Most people imagine that tlie term "Thousand 
Islands" is a pardonable poetical exaggeration, 
covering a prosaic and statistical reality of some 
fifty or a hundred actual islets. But no, not at 
all — the popular name really understates the 
true features of the case. A regular survey re- 
veals the astonishing fact that no fewer than 
three thousand of these lovely little fairy-lands 
stud the blue expanse to which they give their 
name — the Lake of the Thousand Islands. All 
day long you may wander in and out among 
their intricate mazes, gliding round tiny capes, 
exploring narrow channels, losing your way 
hopelessly in watery culs-de-sac, and drinking in 
beauty to your soul's content. Fairy-lands, I 
called them just now, and fairy-lands they veri- 
tably seem. Their charm is all their own. I 
have seen much variety of scenery on this planet 
of ours, north, south, east, and west; but I 
never saw anything so unique, so individual, so 
perfectly sui generis as these Thousand Islands. 
Not that they are so surpassingly beautiful ; but 
llieir beauty is so unlike anything that one may 
see anywhere else. Tiny little islands, placed in 
tiny little rivers, crowned with tiny little chalets, 
and navigated by tiny little yachts ; it all re- 
minds one so tlioroughly of one's childish dream- 
lands, that I declare I should hardly be surprised 
to see Queen Mab or Queen Titania step down, 
wand in hand, to the water's side, and a group 
of attendant fairies dance around her in a grassy 
•circle. 

Among such scenery it is that we glide these 



delicious summer mornings, disporting ourselves 
in the Colonel's yacht, and drawing in fresh life 
with every breath. All the world here seems to 
own a steam-yacht; indeed, the possession of 
that costly piece of property appears as neces- 
sary a mark of respectability among the islands 
as a chimney-pot or a card in Mayfair. Up and 
down they go perpetually, snorting defiance from 
tLieir shrill whistles, with a note whose excessive 
treble seems to surpass all the resources of acous- 
tics; saluting without end the endless bunting 
which waves the stars and stripes from every 
tent, hut, or cottage with that effusive loyalty 
peculiar to the great American people ; and get- 
ting into interminable trouble upon shoals or 
reefs, fouling, grounding, colliding, but, by the 
mercy of some special Providence, never cap- 
sizing. 

The Colonel brought us here from Kingston, 
in his own specimen of these quaint little craft, 
some ten days ago. Kingston stands to the 
islands in the same relation as Chamouni stands 
to Mont Blanc or Oban to the Western High- 
lands. It forms the starting-point, the center, 
and the rendezvous. To Kingston we came 
from Niagara and Toronto by steamboat, across 
the wide waste of Lake Ontario, a shoreless sea, 
whose low banks form one endless expanse of 
growing, waving corn. Corn in vast sheets for 
fifteen miles inland, as the country slopes away 
upw'ard from the lake-side ; corn in the fore- 
ground of our voyage, rising up for ever before 
us as we moved on; corn sinking below the 
horizon as we looked back over the distance 
already covered, and shaking its myriad heads 
in the breeze to the utmost limit that the eye 
could see. No hedges, no copses, no parks, no 
trees, nothing but corn, corn, corn, till one be- 
gins to disbelieve in the possibility of famine, 
and to wonder where all the millers and bakers 
will ever come from. The good Canadian farmer 
— that mild modern Vandal with a tinge of 
Methodism — has cut down the pine-woods right 
and left before his utilitarian axe, leaving only a 
Philistine paradise of agricidtural wealth and 
prosperity, where every man eats roast beef and 
plum-pudding under his own vine and fig-tree, 
while nobody troubles his head about useless 
trifles like the picturesque and the beautiful. If 
it be true, as they say, that good Americans, 
when they die, go to Paris, then I am sure that, 
by parity of reasoning, the soul of William Cob- 
bett must be comfortably housed on the dese- 
crated shores of Lake Ontario. 

It was delightful after ten or fifteen hours of 
this monotonous scenery to find ourselves at 
last in the pretty little open harbor of Kingston. 
A wooded country stretched around us on every 
side, while the outliers of the Thousand Islands 



56 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



lay within sight to the south and east. In front, 
a basking blue stone-built town glowed in the 
foreground, its roofs all covered with tinned iron, 
and shining like gold in the morning sun. I 
could almost fancy myself in the East once more, 
looking out upon some domed and minareted 
village of the Bosporus. Building after build- 
ing of a qaaint, debased American - Byzantine 
style, propped on pseudo-Doric pillars and sur- 
mounted by a false Italian dome (wood, tin- 
plated), stared out upon us boldly, unabashed by 
its own pretentious absurdity. Incredibly mon- 
strous they all are, if taken separately — perfect 
models of the avoidable in architectonic art, 
which Mr. Ruskin would rejoice to pillory, and 
Mr. Fergusson would delight in demohshing — 
yet, looked on in the mass from the water-side, 
they really compose a pretty and harmonious pic- 
ture. The effect is much heightened, too, by a 
few scattered martello-towers, standing straight 
out of the shallow water, with red-rusted iron 
roofs, which contrast finely with the sun-gilded 
domes; while a grim European - looking fort 
crowns a slight eminence eastward, and spreads 
its brown-burned glacis down to the water's edge. 
Altogether, rather a pleasant oasis in the desert 
of white-and-green American towns; for this 
quiet old Kingston is no bantling of yesterday, 
like Buffalo or Toronto, but the lineal descendant 
of Louis Quatorze's Fort Frontenac, quite an 
historical city for the New World. 

Onward from Kingston the Colonel escorted 
us in perspn on board his aforesaid yacht, the 
General Jackson, to Mathison Island, his own 
peculiar domain, some ten miles off, in the very 
heart of that beautiful miniature archipelago. 
We reached our destination at six o'clock on a 
lovely evening. The whole party, some seven 
gentlemen with as many ladies, were ranged 
ready to receive us on the landing-place, a rapid- 
ly shelving granite step, where the water stood 
ten feet deep close under the shore. Above the 
rock, a tall white pole bore aloft the inevitable 
bunting, provocative of a fresh loyal display 
from every wandering steam-whistle that passes 
throughout the day. '' Salute the flag ! " says the 
Colonel, with a military air; and the stoker 
turns on a hideous blast which stuns our ears 
like ten thousand claps of thunder. Then the 
little craft sidles gently against the solid natural 
pier, and we step lightly out at last on the shore 
of the Thousand Islands. 

The ceremony of introduction follows — and 
oh, what a ceremony ! I almost fear to tell the 
tale, lest I should be accused of exaggeration. 
The Colonel takes me by the hand gravely and 
trots me out in front of the assembled party. 
" Mr. Doolittle," he says to the eldest of the group 
in a sepulchral tone, " allow me to present you 



to Mr. Wilson, a British gentleman now on a 
scientific visit to America." 

I bow distantly to Mr. Doolittle, after our 
European fashion ; but such is evidently not the 
custom of the country. Mr. Doolittle advances 
three paces mechanically, as one would advance 
in a quadrille, grasps my hand firmly, and holds 
it while he says in the same sepulchral voice: 
"Mr. Wilson — sir, I am proud to make your 
acquaintance. Welcome to the Thousand Isl- 
ands! " Having said which words as a child re- 
peats its lessons, he drops my hand mechanicallyj 
and retreats three paces, quadrille-fashion, once 
more, into the general line. 

Then the Colonel begins again. Taking the 
second in age among the gentlemen he observes,, 
tone and manner as before: "Dr. Koerber, allow 
me to present you to Mr. Wilson, a British gen- 
tleman now on a scientific visit to America." 

Dr. Koerber takes his turn, steps forward his 
three paces, grasps my hand exactly as Mr. Doo- 
little had done, and then observes, in precisely 
the same regulation tone: "Mr. Wilson— sir, I 
am proud to make your acquaintance. Welcome 
to the Thousand Islands ! " The hand drops : 
three paces to the rear again, and Major Greely 
Robbins comes to take his turn. 

Through all the seven gentlemen the same 
pantomime takes place with admirable gravity, 
and then through all the seven ladies. Mean- 
while, Mrs. Colonel has taken my wife in hand, 
and, beginning with the ladies, presents the 
whole fourteen persons to her with exactly the 
self-same speeches on either side. Having done 
which, the party suddenly unbends, becomes 
natural, and begins to talk like rational creatures, 
not like highly trained poll-parrots. For my 
own part, I felt myself blushing fiery red, for a 
terrible fear possessed me that my wife would 
misunderstand this ceremonial, and laugh out- 
right with her hearty, silvery, English laugh. 
But I learned afterward, when a moment of in- 
tercomnmnication turned up, that she had been 
in equal fear lest my gravity should prove un- 
equal to the occasion: so happily no harm came 
of it in either case. 

"You see. Colonel," said Mr. Doolittle, lead- 
ing the way to the huts, " we have succeeded in 
erecting the flag of our country since your de- 
parture." 

"I observe you have. Sheriff"," answered the 
Colonel (of course, it was imperative that Mr. 
Doolittle should possess a title of some sort, and 
this was apparently the special form which the 
respect of his fellow-citizens had assumed) — " I 
observe, and I trust our British friends will en- 
joy the full freedom and security which that flag 
never fails to afford." Uttering which senti- 
ment like a copy-book maxim, the Colonel took 



THE THOUSAND ISLANDS, 




The Thousand Islands. 



58 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



us on to inspect the preparations made for our 
reception. I really often wonder whether these 
people possess independent minds like our own, 
or whether, after all, they form a sort of heredi- 
tary unconscious automaton. 

Assuredly, camping out is a much more luxu- 
rious proceeding than the ordinary Britisher could 
easily conceive. They know how to make them- 
selves comfortable, do these children of the Great 
Eepubhc, and their cousins in the Dominion over 
the way. The " huts " in which we were to house 
ourselves turn out on closer investigation to be 
two large and airy rough wooden buildings, look- 
ing very much like overgrown barns, but pleas- 
ant enough in their internal arrangements. No 
glass adorns the empty windows, which are really 
the etymological wind-doors of our early English 
ancestors ; but the light and the breeze come 
through them readily enough, and at night we 
close them up securely with rough pine-wood 
shutters against possible bad weather. One of 
the huts accommodates the male members of the 
party, who have permanent beds fitted up on the 
grassy floor; actual feather beds, erect upon four 
iron legs, with a flexible chain sommier to sup- 
port them. The second hut, which does duty as 
dining-room during the day, acts as general la- 
dies' bedroom at night. Tlie Colonel poetically 
refers to it as the Bower, but the other men of 
the party profanely christen it the Hennery. 

Supper stands on the table at the moment of 
our arrival, and we are seated in our places be- 
fore we quite know where we are. The table 
consists of several long planks, set carelessly on 
some trestles ; biit a snowy white clotli covers it 
from end to end ; and pretty common earthen- 
ware graces it with a homely grace. Simplex 
munditiis is the motto of the Hennery, and the 
supper of a surety deserves that higli commenda- 
tion. There is capital tea from a steaming kettle 
(the fire still smolders outside), with cream — real 
cream, for we keep a cow on the island ; there is 
bread, and there are hot cakes, and fresh white- 
fish, and ham, and cold beef, and boiled eggs. 
Above all, there is appetite— healthy, robust appe- 
tite, the result of abundant air and proper exer- 
cise. We eat our supper with a will, amid much 
laughing (a wee bit nasal), much chatting, and no 
small proportion of wild flirtation. But we are 
no ascetics, not a man or woman of the company, 
and we all enjoy a supper, a laugh, and a good 
flirt, as well as heart can reasonably desire. 

But, to avoid vain repetition, I had better tell 
jou at once how we spend a sample day. In the 
morning, we men are all astir at seven or before, 
the ladies never rising till half-past seven. We 
go down to a sequestered spot on one side of the 
island, shaded by Canadian cedar, and hemmed 
in by tiny granite cliffs; and here we take our 



morning dip. The water is deep enough to allow 
of a delicious header, and so clear that you may 
see the fifeh scuttling out of your way in alarm 
as you dive among their astonished shoals. By 
half-past seven we have all returned to the Club, 
as we call the men's hut, and have endued our- 
selves in garments fit for the eyes of womankind. 
Then, and not till then, the ladies may show 
themselves, which they promptly proceed to do, 
and the work of the day begins at once. Into the 
mystery of the ladies' ablutions I can not proceed 
— indeed, I have no authenticated accounts upon 
which to base a veracious history. The Doctor 
asserts that the ladies have a bathing-place of 
their own at the opposite end of the island, shel- 
tered from possible intruders by a canvas screen ; 
while two chains, set across the narrow channel, 
prevent the access of " foreign " boats. But how 
this may be I can not answer from personal ex- 
perience : I only know that a rope has been fast- 
ened from tree to tree at the ladies' end, which 
a law, like that in Tennyson's " Princess," for- 
bids any man to pass on pain of death : and of 
course no one of the party has ever at any time 
laid himself open to capital punishment on this 
account. In England, the curiosity of the young- 
er members might lead them to transgress during 
the small hours of the night, just to settle the 
problem ; but the self-restraining American, al- 
ways courtesy embodied where women are in 
question, would never dream of overstepping the 
appointed limit. 

The day's labor begins with lighting the fire and 
boiling the kettle on a rough hearth of heaped- 
up stones. That task completed by the men, the 
housewife community makes the tea and lays the 
table. Fresh provisions arrive every second day 
from Alexandra Bay, by yacht, and, more mar- 
velous still, the mail, including the New York 
papers. When breakfast has been set, we all fall 
to, and make short w-ork of the various good 
things provided for us. Then sentence of ban- 
ishment is proclaimed against the men, while the 
Club is cleared out and the beds made. After 
that performance, tlie excursions of the day are 
organized, and we separate till two-o'clock din- 
ner. Sometimes we boat among the surrounding 
islands, and lose our way among the little chan- 
nels, only to recover it by some red-painted num- 
ber, which indicates a special landmark. At 
other times we improve the commissariat by a 
catch of rook-bass or speckled trout. Some of 
us sketch or paint in water-colors; others bot- 
anize or gather snail-shells ; the Doctor has a 
mania for butterflies ; while the Major consumes 
most of his time by lying on his back in the 
shade, and smoking innumerable cheroots. So 
in various ways we while away the hours, every 
man in his Imnior, till two o'clock brings dinner. 



THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 



59 



From dinner to supper passes in much the 
same manner as from breakfast to dinner, with 
this difference, that peradventure we work a 
Httle less and flirt a great deal more. Practical 
divorce has been imposed on us by the laws of 
the community, coupled with a kind of Platrmic 
communism. You stroll off after dinner witli 
some one of the seven pretty girls or women, to 
any sequestered nook on the island or one of its 
neighbors, and there you go through a farce of 
fishing or sketching, which really serves as a 
transparent pretense for a downright American 
flirtation. You lie on your back and discuss 
everything, nothing, everybody, nobody, philoso- 
phy, society, and love. Unhappily, the islands 
are so very small that you invariably find your 
own wife, with her companion, intervening at 
the exact moment when you have asked a most 
telling question, and are gazing with a capital 
imitation of boyish and poetical ardor into a pair 
of swimming blue eyes in front of you. But 
such little contretemps are really the very making 
of the flirtation. Without them, it might become 
" quite too awfully real " ; but, as we have all got 
thoroughly accustomed to surprising one another 
in the midst of tragi-comical pseuderotic passages, 
we have learned to regard the whole transaction 
as a vast and harmless joke, in which nobody 
means anytbing, and nobody expects to escape 
being laughed at. 

Of course, in dear, prudish, tittle-tattling Old 
England, such freedom would be impossible. In- 
effable scandals would arise, and become themes 
for Mrs. Grundy's tea-table throughout the next 
half-century. But then England, with all her 
"virtues — and I am one of her most devotedly 
affectionate sons — can not be acquitted of a ten- 
dency toward scandal-mongering, like a majestic 
old Aunt Tabitha as she is. America, on the 
other hand, is rich in that charity which tliinketh 
no evil. Roni soit might be just as truly her 
motto as that of her suspicious mother-country ; 
and, to say the truth, I think she applies it a 
great deal better. The self-respect of men and 
women and the universal chivalrous courtesy 
sbown to the weaker sex prevent the necessity 
for all those conventional barriers with which 
we in England fortify ourselves against Paul Pry 
and Mrs. Candor. Young ladies receive their 
own visitors in tlieir private drawing-room, and 
mamma never dreams of intervening to do pro- 
priety. Engaged couples start alone to spend a 
week at some hotel among the Hudson Highlands 
or the Adirondacks, and no New York society is 
convulsed by their shocking conduct. The result 
is that American women, perfectly independent 
and free in their outward movements, are hedged 
round by a cordon of self-constraint and self- 
possession which the boldest Lothario would 



never venture to transgress. If you want to 
know what were the emotions of a Greek who 
felt himself turning into stone under the petrify- 
ing gaze of the Gorgon Medusa, you have only 
to watch the freezing glance of an American 
maiden who fixintly suspects you of a contem- 
plated incursion beyond that magic and circum- 
scribed circle. 

Thus, between love-making, real and pretend- 
ed — for of course some of our young couples have 
an eye to serious business, and a camping-out 
excursion offers splendid opportunities for rig- 
ging the matrimonial market with little fear of 
competition — our day passes away pleasantly 
enough, and six o'clock brings supper. Tea, we 
should call it at home — the good-old fashioned 
high tea which still lingers in remote counties ; 
but the American mind follows the traditions of 
its Puritan ancestors, and speaks of it by the still 
older English name of supper. It is interesting 
to note how the habits of a simple colonial farm- 
er community still cling about this great, wealthy, 
thoroughly sophisticated, ultra-civilized mercan- 
tile people. They dine early almost to a man : 
and the terrible institution of an early dinner, 
which might really be substituted for the tread- 
mill in modern prisons, derives some mitigation 
among the Islands from the abundance of fresh 
air which we imbibe between whiles. They sup 
at six, with a portentous prodigality unknown to 
older lands. They seldom wear a swallow-tail 
coat, the decent black frock being considered 
suflicient for almost any solemnity. And they 
carry about five hundred minor farmer tinges 
through all their doings, which survive to mark 
the creature from which they have developed, 
just as Mr. Darwin and Professor Huxley tell us 
that the tips of our ears and the rudimentary 
caudal appendages of our vertebral column still 
survive in man to mark our descent from " an 
arboreal quadrumanous mammal" — Anglice, an 
ape. 

After supper comes the delicious coolness of 
Canadian eventide — Canadian, I say, for, though 
our island lies on the republican side of the im- 
aginary boundary, the archipelago as a whole 
belongs in its geography and its climate to Up- 
per Canada. We sit in front of the huts, on 
chairs or sward, and the Doctor strums his violin, 
while a young man from Skaniateles (orthogra- 
phy guaranteed) accompanies on the flute, and 
one or other of tlie nymphs in muslin sings some 
appropriate verses. The music lingers over the 
waters, and rings back again from the granite 
bosses in a dozen dying echoes, each one farther 
off and fainter than the last. Then the dayliglit 
fades, the fire-flies begin to glimmer among the 
cedar-trees, the calm water mirrors back their 
flashes, the violin and flute subside, a single Eng- 



60 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



lish voice pours out a lower, richer, fuller flood 
of music, and the heart of man waxes dreamily 
poetical till all is silent. The shrill whistle of a 
passing yacht happily intervenes to save us from 
the approaching wave of sentimentality; and 
about ten o'clock sees us all turned oft' to our 
bachelor quarters, where we lie eight or nine in 
a room as big as a ballroom, and are soon snor- 
ing at our ease, to begin again the same aim- 
less, listless, delicious, do-nothing life to-morrow 
morning. 

A few more words about the other islands, 
and then I must quit the little group, perhaps for 
ever. Now and then we start in the yacht to 
explore the surrounding channels, and to discover 
" kings and islands new," like tbe great Eear-Ad- 
miral Bailey Pip in Mr. Gilbert's masterpiece. 
For kin;^ abound here as well as kingdoms. 
Numbers of wealthy New York merchants or 
Chicago shippers have bought an island, and built 
upon it a pretty little cottage, sometimes rising 
to the pretensions of a mansion. Mr. Pullman, 
the lucky inventor of drawing-room cars, has 
raised himself a perfect palace in the outward 
semblance of a chalet, grown out of all recogni- 
tion, but still retaining the deep eaves and fancy 
woodwork of its toy-shop original. Many an- 
other celebrity has displayed his taste (or his 
want thereof) in ornate buildings, perched upon 
little rocky knolls, and always surmounted by that 
ubiquitous square of bunting, which proclaims 
the aggressive nationality of its loyal possessor. 
On the whole, most of these cottages are in per- 
fect harmony with their surroundings, and add 
to the picture rather than detract from it. In- 
deed, the Americans, who generally fail with an 
absolute magnificence of failure in the higher 
walks of architecture, have considerable taste in 
domestic buildings, while in landscape gardening 
and the laying out of parks or ornamental 
grounds it must be at once conceded that they 
"whip creation." 

Every one of these island realms has its own 
landing-place, often a regular pier, where the 
yacht lies moored during the greater part of the 
day. The little craft bring down their masters 
at the beginning of the season, and carry them 
about during tbe summer montlis in search of the 
picturesque. The cottages are furnished in true 
American style, with aatin, mirrors, and gilding ; 
and they contain a company during the season 
not unlike that of an English coimtry-house, ac- 
cent and manners always excepted. 

Other islands, hke the Colonel's, belong to 
mere campers-ont, who prefer to rough it in sim- 
pler style. Even these, however, as will have 
been seen already, are far from devoid of tbe lux- 
uries of life; and I must say my first feeling 
was one of disappointment when I found pdte de 



foie gras and champagne included in the bill of 
fare. Civilization pursues us nowadays, as Hor- 
ace used to tell us black care pursued the wealthy, 
till at last we are reading English scientific week- 
lies, twelve days after publication, in a summer 
camp among the Thousand Islands. 

Here and there, however, we come upon some 
more genuine campers, in the shape of a young 
men's party, who have appropriated an unoccu- 
pied island for the nonce, and are really living 
under canvas. These hearty young fellows turn 
out as a rule to be Canadian students or military 
cadets, for the true Yankee loves civilization too 
well to forego roof or bed, except upon dire ne- 
cessity thereto prevailing. Your genuine camper 
also lives largely on the spoils of liis gun and his 
rod, often taking with him no more than a bag of 
Indian meal, which he kneads into damper with 
water from the river, and bakes rudely upon a 
flat stone. But, alas, luxuria armis scevior incu- 
buit; and I fear me that the honest Canadian 
stripling himself has begun to indulge in tinned 
provisions, while I can assert from personal ex- 
perience that brandy-and-soda is no unknown 
beverage, even under primitive canvas. When 
the first Japanese ambassadors came to Europe 
in quest of civilization, they were duly regaled at 
the Mansion House with a civic banquet. As 
the interpreter's glass was filled again and again 
with bubbling Veuve Clicquot, that excellent 
functionary exclaimed many times with much 
fervor, "How I do like civilization! " Japan is 
not the only country, apparently, which is ready 
to accept the precious boon in the same limited 
sense. 

One other island positively claims attention 
from its local coloring, its perfect raciness of 
American feeling. A good many hotels line the 
shores of the little archipelago, but for many 
years no island had been specially set apart for 
religious services. At length, an enterprising 
body set on foot the notion of a permanent camp- 
meeting. No sooner said than done. Wells Isl- 
and was opened for the purpose ; a meeting- 
house was built, a landing-place was provided, 
and appropriate services were devised. The en- 
terprise proved an enormous success. Numbers 
of good souls, who regarded picnics as worldly 
and camping out as little short of sinful, accepted 
the invitation to visit the islands for prayer- 
meetings and missionary sermons. You hire "a 
location " on Wells Island for the season just as 
you rent a pew in church. Steamers call at the 
landing-stage on their voyages up or down; the 
good people disembark, while the less good go on 
to livelier shores; and nowadays Wells Island 
does a roaring trade, from spring to autumn, in 
spiritual consolations and material provisions, not 
including alcoholic stimulants. The whole no- 



THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. 



61 



tion is deliciously redolent of American charac- 
ter, with its quaint and shrewd mixture of godli- 
ness and money-making. 

As a parting word, let me say to all readers, 
if you are tired of that eternal round — Cologne, 
the Rhine, Switzerland, the Italian lakes, Rome, 



Paris, and London — why not run across the At- 
lantic? And, if you run across and can spare a 
week or so in the sultry summer weather, be sure 
you don't forget to try the Thousand Islands. You 
must be a very difficult fellow to please if you don't 
thank me heartily for the hint on your return. 



THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. 



By Ernest Ingersoll. 




aj rpHE pleasantest of 
JL all my walks 
leads me along the 
banks of a rural 
stream, where ani- 
mals of the land and 
air and water make 
each other's acquaint- 
ance. The brook 
comes down from 
the hills, meanders 
through the meadow 
fringed with trees, 
darts under the rude 
bridge where the road 
crosses, and goes gur- 
gling on through 
depth and shallow, 
here lost among the 
reeds of a marsh, 
there running the 
gantlet of the old 
mill-wheel, until the 
cover of the deep 
woods is reached, and 



it can afford to saunter 
slowly under the quiet shade 
of the elms and sycamores. 
I am impelled to seek its 
banks by the same constant 
instinct which led Thoreau 
always to walk toward the 
southwest. He thought this 
inscrutable impulse in him 
was a part of the settled 
migratory instinct of tlie 
race, insisting on national 
and individual progress west- 
ward. But the avenues of 
entrance to new continents 
have always been by its 
rivers, so it may be that my 
impulse, also, is owing to 
the prevailing tendency of 
humanity ; yet I only think 
of it, if I consider it at all, 
as the quickest way of with- 
drawing into the wilderness. 

A walk along the edge of a stream in the 
country, following all its curves, stepping from 
stone to stone in its shallow bed, or better yet 
its navigation, furnish sensations akin to those 
felt by original explorers. The border of rushes, 
shrubbery, and trees shuts out the civiUzed land- 
scape, the sounds of distant industry are lost in 
the near prattle of tlie water, and the vista is as 
primitive and wild as when no keel but that of 
the birch canoe had cleft its waters. There are 
the hope and exhilaration of discovery in round- 
ing every bend. 

In the course of a mile along such a stream 
you may study the whole of geography: on 
either hand are continents; the stream is an 
ocean, or inland sea, or river, or brook, as your 
fancy dictates; the hills form & terra incognita 
where are the hidden sources of this Nile; the 
mill and bridge are the towns of its world, the 
meadow and pasture the plains and highlands by 
which it passes; it has islands and peninsulas 
and isthmuses, capes, promontories, and reefs. 
The teacher of the district school at the cross- 
roads can plant a firmer lesson in the restless 



62 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



young minds under her charge, by an afternoon's 
stroll along this stream, than by a month's study 
of atlases and definitions. 

Thither goes the ornithologist on sweet June 
mornings when the spring torrent has subsided, 
and the dogwood is launching its large petals on 
the brook. The long-roll of the kingfisher sum- 
mons him, and he finds a gay company of birds 
hardly to be met with elsewhere. 

As I follow the path where the cows go down 
by the side of the bridge to drink, a little Qua- 
ker-dressed object shoots past my face, and I 
stoop under the old timbers and look for the 
home of 

THE PHCEBE-BIRD. 

Here it is, plastered on the shelving upper 
side of this unbarked and dusty beam, so close 
underneath the planks that the bird can only 
squeeze in — a vvonderfully pretty and modest 
nest! 

It is shaped like a very thick half-bowl, or 
the quarter of a citron, cut lengthwise, made of 
mud mixed with moss to give it greater strengtl), 
and is fastened up by its broken edges ; or like 
one of the little basins for holy- water built 
against the pillars at the entrances of cathedrals. 
It ia green with moss on the outside, and lined 
■ with hair within. The phoebes build nowadays 
under bridges more than anywhere else, and are 
known only as "bridge pewees" in many sec- ] 
tions, but in unsettled regions they plaster their ' 
bracketed homes upon the sunny side of a cliff, 
in a cave, or even against the upturned roots of 
a fallen tree in the woods. Sometimes the j 
phoebes save labor by building upon the flat sur- i 
face of a rocky ledge, where they only need raise 
a rim of mud round the bed upon which the 
eggs lie to keep them from rolling off their bed | 
of hair. So pleased with this economy were one 
family of phoebes I knew of that they returned j 
to the same ledge three summers in succession. 

Mr. Minot tells a remarkable story of a pair, 
which, being behindhand in their work, con- 
structed two nests side by side on a beam in a 
shed, and, as soon as one set of eggs was hatched, 
the female immediately began to lay a second 
set in the other nest, while the male fed the first 
brood. If undisturbed, they seem always to re- 
turn year after year to their old quarters, getting 
back among the earliest in the spring, and some- 
times raise three broods in the season. 

The phtTcbe {Sayornis fuscus) has several 
small relations belonging to the family of ti-ue 
fly-catchers, which are much like it and each 
other in appearance, but vary curiously in their 
architecture, although all agree pretty closely in 
respect to their pointed, creamy eggs, sparsely 
spotted with lavender and deep crimson. 



Look at the nest of the wood pewee. The 
bird is nearly as large as the phoebe, yet its ex- 
quisite structure is not one quarter the size of 
that bird's. It is balanced upon the upper side 
of an horizontal branch, often of an apple-tree, 
and seems merely an excrescence upon the bark ; 
for, while the inside of the nest is padded with 
the downy blossoms of the cottonwood, the out- 
side is veneered with silver-gray lichens. It is 
just such a nest as the humming-bird's, and looks 
as though it grew there. Now, a still smaller 
brother, the green - crested or Acadian pewee, 
does not take all this trouble, but in the remote 
beech- woods gets together a few long straws, out 
of which he weaves a shallow cradle across the 
fork of some low, drooping branch. These two, 
however, do not nest before the last week in 
May, at least, by which time the phoebe is feeding 
her young. 

While I am under the bridge looking at her 
snug home with its furniture of wood lichens 
and household of eggs, the mother-bird perches 
upon the railing of the bridge, nervously flirting 
her tail, and watches me, anxious lest all her 
treasures are to be lost, or at least lest she shall 
not be permitted to return until her eggs have 
grown so cold that all her warmth will not re- 
suscitate them. As I move away I see her 
joined by her twittering mate, and watch them 
as they survey the premises, clinging to the edge 
of the nest with clinching talons and whirring 
wings, and I fancy I understand their rejoicings 
as she settles carefully upon the shining eggs, 
and the loving husband darts after a gnat. 

The olive-green bird is so near the color of 
the deadened moss of which her couch is com- 
posed that she hardly needs the cover of the 
bridge-planks or the shelter of a cave to keep her 
from the eyes of hawks. It is a beautiful example 
of the protection afforded to most small birds by 
the tints of their plumage assimilating them with 
surrounding objects, and thus making them al- 
most invisible. I have frequently discovered one 
of these nests against a vine-trellised cliff, and, 
removing my eyes from it for an instant, have 
had to search long and sharply before I could 
recover the sight of it; the bird meanwhile re- 
maining absolutely still, as though well aware 
that the smallest movement might betray her 
presence. " The rock seemed to love the nest 
and to claim it as its own," I said. " What a les- 
son in architecture is here ! Here is a house 
that was built, but with such loving care and 
such beautiful adaptation of the means to the 
end that it looks like a product of nature. The 
same wise economy is noticeable in the nests of 
all birds. No bird paints its house white or red, 
or adds aught for show." 

The color of the lower parts of the phoebe-bird 



THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. 



63 



is dull yellowish-white mixed with brown on the 
chin and sometimes across the breast ; the tail is 
brown, with the outer edge of the outer feathers 
white; the brown wing-feathers are edged with 
white, and the bill and feet are black. 

On the Pacific coast our phoebe-bird is re- 
placed by a brother — the black pewee — whose 
habits are almost precisely similar, and which is 
equally dear to all philornians. 

Just below the bridge, where there is a sharp 
bend, the brook cuts through a high bank, and, 
by eating it away at high water, keeps the face 
of the cutting bare and vertical. Approaching 
this bank I rarely fail being roused from my 
reverie by a sudden splash and noisy cry, and 
raise my eyes to catch a silvery gleam as of sun- 
light ilashing from a spear-point. It is the suc- 
cessful dive, and the triumpliant shout, and the 
glistening prey of 

THE KINGFISHER. 

We all know him with his jaunty crest and blue 
waistcoat, and admire him, too, as he shakes the 
bright drops from his plumage, and looks sharply 
down from some high sycamore ready for a new 
victim. Woe to the luckless fish who swims 
under the range of his piercing eye ! He is a 
diver who brings up living pearls. 

The design of much of classic mythology 
seems to have been to account for the appear- 
ance of favorite animals upon the earth. Promi- 
nent among these myths, and one of the most 
beautiful, is the touching story of Halcyone, the 
fond wife, who, awaiting the return of her hus- 
band from his long voyage, one day beholds his 
dead body tossing in the surf. Overwhelmed 
with grief she springs to snatch him from the 
sea, but ere she touches the water is changed 
into a kingfisher, and with her husband, alike 
transformed, she floats away over the billows. 
Many a time after are they seen resting upon old 
Ocean's bosom ; and, whatever the violence of 
the storm, around their buoyant nest the sea is 
always tranquil. What wonder that mariners 
protected and venerated Halcyone, the king- 
fisher, and that even yet we call serene, peaceful 
seasons halcyon days ? 

But for these old fables we have little room. 
Over the winds and waves the humble Ceryle 
alcyon of our day has no control. " Its nest is 
neither constructed of glue nor fish-bones, but of 
loose grass and a few feathers; it is not thrown 
on the surface of the water to float about, but 
snugly secured from the winds and the weather 
in the recesses of the earth. Neither is its head 
or its feathers believed, even by the most illiter- 
ate of our clowns or seamen, to be a charm for 
love, a protection against witchcraft, or a security 
for fair weather. It is neither venerated like the 



kingfishers of the Society Isles, nor dreaded like 
those of some other countries; but is considered 
merely as a bird that feeds on fish, is generally 
fat, relished by some as good eating, and is now 
and then exposed for sale in our markets." 

Thus prosaically the usually poetic Wilson 
brings us back from romance to reality, and cau- 
tions against anything 'but facts! 

The belted kingfisher ranges from the Rio 
Grande to Labrador, but everywhere is more 
conspicuous than abundant. In the northern 
portions of the Union he is migratory, flying 
away to the South on the approach of winter, 
and returning by easy stages in the spring as fast 
as the ice thaws in the rivers. Yet he does not 
altogether follow the river-courses, but often 
wings his way straight across the country thirty 
or forty miles, his flight consisting of a series of 
six or seven slopes, followed by a long slide on 
motionless wings. Thus progressing he reaches 
us by the first of April in ordinary seasons, and 
loses but little time before pairing. A mate is 
soon found, and together they seek out a soft, 
steep bank, usually near the water, where they 
dig a straight, sometimes winding, hole, three or 
four inches in diameter, and from four to ten 
feet in depth, near the enlarged extremity of 
which a little carpeting of loose grass and feathers, 
if anything at all, constitutes the nest. (It is the 
English species that makes a nest of fish-bones.) 
Both sexes work with bill and feet at this burrow, 
"turn and turn about," and progress so fast that, 
if the bank be of soft sand, the hole is sometimes 
completed in twenty-four hours. Then the eggs 
are laid, one a day. until there are six or seven, 
nearly round and crystal white. Should the nest 
be robbed, the parents will again and again renew 
their labor; and it is their custom to return year 
after year to the same bank to breed. 

They live almost or quite exclusively on fishes, 
plunging after them in a swift, curved line from 
some dead limb over the water, and flying off 
with their prey to their perch, or to the entrance 
of their nest, before eating it. The fish is swal- 
lowed whole, and after digestion the hard parts 
are disgorged. When the young are in the nest 
they are fed mainly at night, and, as each capture 
is heralded by the loud r-r-r-r — rallying-cry of the 
parent, this peculiar and stirring sound, which 
Wilson aptly likened to a watchman's rattle, is 
more often heard after dark than during the day. 
How keen must be the vision distinguishing fishes 
in the water at midnight, and how sure tlie aim 
which can catch them through the gloom! 

The kingfisher seems to me to be a wonder- 
fully capable, self-reliant bird. He shows it in 
his erect, vigilant attitude and brave crest. He 
knows he is the King-fisher, and is proud of his 
skill. He holds up his head like a soldier, and 



64 



APPLETONS' SUMMEE BOOK. 



the crest on his cap and the broad red band 
across his breast are his regaha. Knowing he 
can take care of himself, he defies, is solitary, 
taciturn, and exclusive. It is rare to see two 
pairs within a mile of each other, and it may be 
because each feels no need of the other's com- 
pany. The dashing torrents he loves are conge- 
nial to his heroic nature, notwithstanding the 
reputation of his mythical ancestors, who may 
yet be patrolling the blue iEgean. 

Opposite this crescentic bluff where the bank- 
swallows and kingfishers breed, is a broad grav- 
elly beach which, during spring freshets, is in- 
undated, as is shown by the muddy drift-wood 
entangled in the lower branches of the willows 
and alders. Whenever I come here my ears are 
saluted with a soft, little bird- squeal — pee-iceet, 
weet, weet, and a tiny object scuds ofl:' on swift, 
slender feet, or gray wings, trailing downward 
from its body as though broken, carry it away in 
a circuitous sweep, just skimming the surface of 
the water. This can only be 

THE SPOTTED SANDPIPER. 

He is another independent little fellow, scut- 
tling, in his ridiculous way, from the tropics to 
the Arctic Zone and back every year. Unlike 
most of its allies, this species is not confined to 
the seashore nor does it congregate in flocks, bat 
spreads all over the country, following those nat- 
ural paths — the rivers — until adventurous ones 
reach even Alaska and Labrador, scale the sides 
of the Rocky Mountains, and make their nests in 
the fens far north of Lake Superior. Meanwhile 
thousands, less energetic or more economical of 
time and strength, stay with us in every State, 
and, in the southern portions of the Union, suc- 
ceed in raising two families before being warned 
by comrades returning from the North that win- 
ter is at their heels. 

It breeds as abundantly in the depths of the 
Maine forests as on the low, sandy islands, or in 
the marshes by our seacoast. The female, about 
the first week in April, scratches a hollow in the 
sandy earth by some pond, or sometimes in a 
corn-field or orchard, lining it with a few pieces 
of straw or moss, and lays four eggs, which she 
adjusts with their small ends together in the mid- 
dle of the nest ; these eggs are usually abruptly 
pyriform, sometimes a little lengthened, are clay- 
color, marked with blotches and spots of umber 
and sienna, thickest at the greater end, where 
tbey are sometimes confluent, and measure about 
one and a tliird inch in length by one inch in 
width. 

Its nest presents so little to catch the eye 
that you may look long and not discover that it 
is close to your feet. The young appear during 



the first days of June, and run about with won- 
derful speed as soon as they leave the shell, be- 
ing covered with down of a dull-gray, marked 
with a single streak of black down the back, and 
another behind each ear. Their cry is weak and 
plaintive. The parents are greatly distressed on 
the approach of any person to their nest, and ex- 
ert themselves by counterfeiting lameness and 
hy other frantic movements to lead the intruder 
away and prevent its exposure. 

Mr. William Bartram — America's White of 
Selborne — told Wilson a pleasant story of how 
he saw one of tbese sandpipers defend her young 
against the attacks of a ground-squirrel — though 
it seems to me that it is not the ordinary habit 
of chipmunks to attempt to devour young birds : 

"The scene of action was on the river-shore. 
The parent had thrown herself, with her two 
young behind her, between them and the land ; 
and, at every attempt of the squirrel to seize them, 
by a circuitous sweep raised both her wings into 
an almost perpendicular position, assuming the 
most formidable appearance she was capable of, 
and rushed forward on the squirrel, who, intimi- 
dated by her boldness and manner, instantly re- 
treated ; but, frequently returning, was met as 
before, in front and on flank, by the daring and 
affectionate bird, who, with her wings and whole 
plumage bristling up, seemed swelled to twice 
her usual size. Her young crowded together 
behind her, apparently sensible of their perilous 
situation, moving backward and forward as she 
advanced or retreated. This interesting scene 
lasted for at least ten minutes ; the strength of 
the poor parent began evidently to flag, and the 
attacks of the squirrel became more daring and 
frequent, when my good friend, like one of those 
celestial agents who in Homer's time so often 
decided the palm of victory, stepped forward 
fi'om his retreat, drove the assailant back to his 
hole, and rescued the innocent from destruction." 

This bird is not uncommonly found also in 
western Europe, and winters in Central and 
South America and the West Indies, whither it 
departs in October. 

The spotted sandpiper is small — about seven 
and a half inches long — but has a straight, slen- 
der bill an inch in length, and grooved on each 
side; the legs and toes are reddish-yellow a,nd 
rather long, the outer toe connected with the 
middle one by a large membrane. The color of 
the upper parts is brownish-green, with a some- 
what metallic or bronzed luster, and numerous 
lines, arrow-heads, and spots of brownish-black, 
also lustrous ; the under parts, and a line over 
the eye, white, with numerous circular and oval 
spots of brownish-black, largest on the abdomen ; 
wings greenish-brown, crossed by a narrow bar 
of white ; outer feathers of the tail tipped with 



THE BIEDS OF THE BEOOKSIDE. 



65 



-white, and barred Avitli black. Its systematic 
name is Tringoides macularius. 

Following- the windings of the growing stream 
down below the meadows to the woods, where it 
prowls about the bare roots of old trees, and 
plunges over a rocky bottom between banks cov- 
ered to the water's edge with thickets and fern- 
brakes, we are pretty sure to find one or two 
little birds that rarely leave such sequestered 
spots. These are the two cousins of the oven- 
bird— 

THE WATEE-TIIRUSHES OR WAGTAILS. 

Very pleasant little folks to know are both of 
them, although it is not at all easy to make their 
acquaintance, since they are shy of being watched, 
and hide themselves in the most out-of-the-way 
places, but always in the close vicinity of the 
water. The small-billed or New York wagtail 
— for water-thrusli is an incorrect and, conse- 
quently, a bad name — is not uncommon in the 
northern parts of the United States through the 
summer, while it slowly moves in the winter to 
the Gulf coast and the West Indies. The large- 
billed, or Louisiana wagtail, on the contrary, is 
best known at the South, where in summer it 
extends noi-thward to southern Illinois in the 
West and to Connecticut in the East. Each 
finds its food in the insects and their young 
which live among the wet leaves and rank weeds 
flourishing along river-banks, and in those aquat- 
ic species that cling to stones in the bottom of 
the stream. On land they have a graceful, glid- 
ing walk, not hopping, as do most woodland 
birds. Both are very fine singers — the finest of 
all the warblers. The small-billed does not seem 
to liave its full share of credit as a vocalist on 
account of its modesty, and the fact that its 
songs are all of love to its mate, seeming never 
to be wasted on any other occasion than wooing, 
although then often continued into a moonlit 
serenade. An enthusiastic writer describes this 
song as beginning with a startling outburst of 
melody, clear and ringing, as if surprised by a 
sudden joy, after which it keeps falling until you 
can hardly hear it; the strong tones are yet very 
sweet. But, if you want to see the little min- 
strel, you must go carefully in a boat to near the 
place where he secretes himself with his mate. 

The large-billed is more prodigal of liis music 
and not quite so cautious about listeners. In the 
picturesque little "runs" — ''trout-brooks" in 
New England — that find their way down the 
tangled ravines between the lofty hills of West 
Virginia, I used often to come upon them, and, 
by ordinary caution, could easily watch them at 
work or play or when singing. They seemed to 
choose to loiter about the pebbly shallows just 
a,bove the cataract, where they could jump from 
5 



stone to stone, or run along the drifted logs, 
rather than to retreat to the dark brakes beloved 
of the small-billed wagtail. They were never 
still a minute. Even when standing they seemed 
to stand unsteadily on their legs, as if their thin, 
transparent tarsi were too weak to hold them, 
and were incessantly jerking and " wagging " 
their tails, not depressing them as the pevvees 
do, but flirting them in a nervous way. The 
large-bill's song is uttered while the bird stands 
on some log or stone — for it rarely alights upon a 
branch — and is full of fire and bright melody, 
yet it is hardly so accomplished a musical per- 
formance as that of his brother. If he gets the 
idea that he is wanted to grace your cabinet, he 
vents his indignation in a little chich like the 
noise made '' by striking two pebbles together," 
and is off to some secure retreat in a twinkling. 
"Come upon him suddenly, however, as he is 
running nimbly along the margin of some great 
pool or rippling eddy, and at times he will seem 
to pay little 'regard to your presence, and you 
may have a fine chance to observe his motions 
and sandpiper-like ways as he wades knee-deep 
into the water, or splashes through it in hot pur- 
suit of some aquatic insect." Thus pleasantly 
writes AVilliam Brewster, with whom it was ray 
privilege to climb those rugged W^est Virginia 
hills and thread those charming valleys in search 
of feathered friends. 

All three members of this genus are aptly 
called oven-birds, because of the covered, oven- 
like nests which they build upon the ground. 
That of the common golden-crowned wagtail is 
well known to all of us. The northern home of 
the small-billed is very similar, except that it 
usually builds beneath a pile of drift or some 
such object, and so saves itself the trouble of 
putting a roof over its nest. In the dense cedar- 
swamps of Maine an excavation is often made 
under a decaying log, and a warm bed of firmly 
woven mosses and soft fibrous materials is tucked 
into it. Could one imagine a snugger resting- 
place for the red-spotted eggs ? 

Although the Louisiana wagtails were so com- 
mon in West Virginia, we never found one of 
their nests ; but it was my good luck to discover 
its home near Norwich, Connecticut, where it is 
very rare, and very much farther northeast than 
it had ever before been known to breed. 

I was walking up the bed of the Yantic Kiver 
one day in the latter part of June, stepping from 
stone to stone, and searching the overhanging 
branches for nests, when a little bird I did not at 
once recognize darted from under the roots of a 
beech-tree growing on the sheer edge of the steep 
bank, and flew straight away, uttering alarmed 
chirrups. Feeling interested, I concealed myself 
near by and patiently waited, confident that the 



66 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



strange bird would, return. In twenty minutes 
I was rewarded by its reappearance, and then I 
saw, with delight, that it was a female large-billed 
wagtail, and that she had her home under the 
roots of the beech ; but she seemed to have for- 
gotten all about the disturbance, and to be in no 
haste whatever to resume her sitting. By these 
signs I concluded that her eggs were fresh, for 
when she is driven off during the latter days of 
incubation she rolls and tumbles about, uttering 
piteous cries to attract your pursuit. When at 
length she disclosed its position, I found the nest 
sunk behind a cushion of moss and into the rot- 
ten wood among the roots in such a manner that 
it was covered over completely. 

It was rather loosely and carelessly construct- 
ed of fine grass and some dead, fibrous moss ; but, 
beneath and about the outside, particularly in 
front, many dead leaves were put as a sort of 
breastwork, the more thoroughly to conceal the 
sitting bird. It was a typical nest, except that 
often it is more conspicuously placed. The four 
eggs were of a beautiful rosy tint (becoming pure 
white after being blown), and were profusely 
spotted all over with dots, specks, and obscure 
zigzaggings, of two tints of reddish-brown and 
faint lilac, the spots being most crowded at the 
large end. The female is said to sit fourteen 
days, and when ten days old the young leave the 



nest and follow the mother about until they are 
able to fly. 

In order to distinguish these two species 
apart, and from the golden-crown (Seiurus auro- 
ca2nllus), a somewhat minute description of each 
will be necessary. 

The small-billed wagtail (Semrus noveboracen- 
sis) is six and one fifth inches in length, with the 
bill about as long as the skull. The plumage 
above is olive-brown, with a shade of green ; be- 
neath, sulplmr-yellow, brightest on the abdomen. 
There is a brownish-yellow line over the eye, a 
dusky line from the biU through it, and the 
throat and chin are finely spotted. All the re- 
maining under parts, except the abdomen and 
sides of the body, are thickly streaked with oli- 
vaceous brown, almost black on the breast. 

The large-billed wagtail (Seiurus ludoviei- 
anus) is slightly larger than the other, and its 
bill is longer than the skull. The upper parts 
are olive-brown, with a greenish shade ; under 
parts white, with a very faint tinge of pale buff 
behind. There is a conspicuous white line over 
the eye, a brown one though widening behind, 
and a dusky line backward from the mouth 
along the side of the throat ; the fore part of the 
breast and sides of the body are covered with 
brownish arrow-shaped streaks, but the chin, 
throat, belly, and vent are unspotted. 



VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 



By William H. Rideing. 



WE can feel for him who has but one vaca- 
tion in a whole year, and who has that 
spoiled by inclemency of weather or the iniquity 
of hotel-keepers and guides. But the vacation 
tourist is usually egotistically exacting, and is 
dissatisfied if his choice of a resort is not most 
felicitous, or the time which he chooses does not 
prove the very best of the year. If he should hap- 
pen to strike continuous cold or rain, never after- 
ward is he willing to believe that the climate is 
not persistently wet or bleak. He may not flatly 
contradict you if you describe a different expe- 
rience, but there is a dubiousness in the smile 
with which he listens that is more provokingly 
negative than any explicit denial. 

There are some who will tell you. supposing 
that you have not been there, that, in order to 
conceive the sensations of life in Colorado, you 
must rub yourself and your clothing with brick- 
dust; that you must imagine your lips cracked 
and hands blistered and teeth for ever on edge ; 
that, if you are susceptible to the despondent 
moods of nature, you must be in heart-breaking 



gloom from the unspeakable influence of the 
vast gray peaks; that, if you associate with coal- 
heavers and oyster-openers, and never take a bath, 
and never feel cheerful, you will have the usual 
" first impressions " of a tourist in Colorado. 

But, though all this is so obviously extrava- 
gant, it is entertained by some who are not or- 
dinarily violent, and whose prejudices are based 
on the discrepancy between too brilliant antici- 
pations and imperfect fruition. Let us confess 
ourselves. We believe in Colorado — in the sa- 
lubrity of its air and the ennobling expansiveness 
of its influence, in the wonderful beauty of its 
mountains and the healing balsam of its pines. 
But we can understand the inimical position of 
one who at the end of twenty-four hours on the 
plains between Omaha and Cheyenne finds him- 
self deposited in that arid little offspring of civil- 
ization while a searching wind is shrieking from 
the mountains, which are concealed in a whirling 
dust; who, as he travels southward to Denver 
and gazes disconsolately upon the fallow undula- 
tions of land without verdure, is told that this 



VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 



6Y 




A Glimpse of Denver. 



is Colorado, and that the deep wall of blue occa- 
sionally visible in the west is that range which 
he has heard of from childhood with the greatest 
veneration ; who lands in Denver when the streets 
are ribbed by sand like the seashore, and the air 
is so parched that a wet handkerchief flung in it 
becomes dry in a few moments ; who is sensitive 



to the brusqueness of some of the people with 
whom he has to deal, and whose pfirse is not so 
plethoric that he can endure every demand upon 
it without wincing; who limits his excursions to 
the foot-hills and Monument Park, without learn- 
ing the grandeur of the peaks, and who is pur- 
sued during all his sojourn by the dust. We can 



68 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




Monument Park. 

understand how, as the clovered pastures and 
waving corn-fields of Kansas and Iowa are being 
traversed in the homeward journey, he looks back 
in contrast to the ashy grasses and loose soil of 
Colorado, and proclaims that sand-paper and pul- 
verized bath-brick well applied to the clothing 
and skin will give a fair idea of what it feels like 
to be out there. Sometimes the wind and dust 
are unpleasant in Colorado; the air is bleak, and 
the whole eifect of the scenery is dispiriting. 
Such a " spell " of weather to one who has read of 
the country as a paradise — who is nervous, iras- 
cible, and unprei)ared to wait for a change — jus- 
tifies the expression of disap|)ointment if it does 
not sanction the inimical generalizations we have 
alluded to. We remember to have been in Den- 
ver when it has seemed that any place in the 
world, under any condition, would be preferable. 
But there are days in Colorado when the air is 
like wine in its exhilarativeness, and when all that 
is bitter in the world is lifted olf the mind by the 



pure exuberance of Na- 
ture — days wheB a 
quick gladness dances 
in the eyes of the ail- 
ing, and all beings re- 
spond to the vitalizing 
influence, and feel a 
strength that makes 
idleness insupportable. 
It is no dolcefar niente 
— the pleasure is in 
movement and exer- 
tion ; and he who would 
in other climates care 
little or nothing for 
pedestrianism feels a 
tremendous longing to 
stride out toward one 
of the distant and de- 
fiant peaks. There are 
days, also, of trailing 
mist which play hide- 
and - seek with the 
mountains, and which 
bring out upon them 
new wonders of shade 
and shine, and days of 
that marvelous lucidity 
which accentuates ev- 
ery notch in the out- 
lines and every knoll 
on the slopes. The 
nights are more spa- 
cious and luminous than 
any nights we know of 
elsewhere, and the sun- 
sets have a passion and 
a splendor that are on- 
ly rivaled by those of the mid-ocean. Let us 
not forget, either, the Alpine lakes in the re- 
gions of perpetual snow where the ice melts ev- 
ery morning in midsummer, and where flowers 
of the most delicate hue and form lift themselves 
out of the white and arctic imprisonment; or 
those still glens high above tiie plain, tlirough the 
arching branches of whose foliage dim glimpses 
are had of a deep country below, between which 
and us are insurmountable cliflfs; or the meUow- 
eolored thickets of cottonwoods whose every leaf 
seems dancing at the faintest breath of air. 

No ; Colorado is not a i)aradise, nor could it 
seem so even to a select party traveling in a spe- 
cial'director's car, with a commissary attached, 
and carte hlanche as to time and speed. It em- 
braces among its features absolute sterility and 
unloveliness ; the winds on the foot-hills and 
plains are apt to be mistaken for fogs from the 
quantity of dust they carry with them ; but we 
who have traveled beyond the beaten path know 



VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 



69 



that Colorado is not only a revelation to him 
who can enter into the subtiler moods of Nature, 
but that it has attractions in a bracing climate, 
and the simple charms of wood, valley, ravine, 
and mountain. Pleasure is to be commanded, 
and he who is defeated in his search for it may 
charge his discomfiture to his own lack of re- 
source. Come to Colorado prepared for wind, 
and well supplied with glycerine ; come, not ex- 
pecting the menu or attendance of a fashionable 
club ; come to be content, and then you shall not 
go away disappointed. 

We have already briefly indicated some of 
the specific charms, and we may now look at 
them in detail. First, there is the journey over 
the Plains by the Union Pacific Railway from 
Omaha, or by either the Atchison, Topeka and 
Sante Fe, or the Kansas Pacific from Kansas 
City. The merits of the three are about even, 
and we should advise the tourist to go by the 
Union and return by the Kansas Pacific or At- 
chison, though the scenery on each is singularly 
alike. To the traveler who has never been west 
of the Missouri before, the departure is quite a 
different thing from leaving Boston or New 
York for Chicago or St. Louis. 
He has an awe-inspiring sense of 
approaching the remote and un- 
known. There is only one through 
train each day, and the ultimate 
destination of that train is the 
misty shore of the Pacific, a point 
between which and Omaha there 
are one hundred and twenty 
hours of continuous travel. The -^^ 

train itself has an imposing large- S^~- 

ness and dignity — an extraordi- ;^ 

nary number of mail and express '~- - 

cars and sleepers. It is the busi- 
ness of the day to dispatch it. ^ ^^ 
The " overland," as it is called, 
is no common conveyance, and 
the old-fashioned sentiment of 
leave-taking is touched as it pon- 
derously sweeps out of the de- 
pot. Whether we travel by the 
Union Pacific through Nebraska 
or the Kansas Pacific through 
Kansas, the first few hundred 
miles out present the same fea- 
tures of a teeming and developing 
agricultural country, with a great- 
er activity of labor and luxuri- 
ance of woodland in the latter 
than in the former. There are a 
breeziness and an extent of ho- 
rizon, a massiveness of cloud- 
forms, and withal a brilliance of 
light, that in some indefinite way 



force upon us the recognition of an uncrowded, 
abundant land, and an atmosphere tor men to 
thrive in. But, before evening, the verdant farm- 
lands are succeeded by the Plains, which are the 
same whether seen from the Union Pacific, the 
Kansas Pacific, or the Atchison. Billow follows 
billow of land, the prevailing color of which is a 
yellowish-green, jeweled with patches of wild 
verbena. Occasionally the land sinks into a ba- 
sin surrounded by hogs' -backs, a form of rock 
which has a steep and rough escarpment on one 
side, and on the other side slopes off" by easy 
gradations to the level. But no great elevation 
is visible to convey an idea of space by contrast, 
and the impression received by the spectator is 
one of contraction rather than immensity. At 
intervals of between ten and twenty miles, a red 
tank, with a creaking windmill, marks a water- 
station, and, still farther apart, some white 
little towns, with names suggestive of frontier 
life, tell a story, to which the mendicant In- 
dians crowding the depots are a graphic anti- 
thesis. Between the towns the plains rise and 
fall, keeping the traveler's interest only half- 
awake by prairie-dog villages and small herds 




Tower of Babel, Garden of the Gods. 



70 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



of antelope. The buffaloes have entirely disap- 
peared. 

From the novel but tedious landscape we are 
glad to turn to our fellow passengers, who dis- 
card the formalities of conventional life, and are 
quick to make acquaintance with one another. 
Notes are compared and plans are broached. As 
the sun leaves the vast land " which few behold- 
ing understand," as a Western poet says, all out- 
er things are obliterated by what seems like utter 
darkness, while within the "sleeper" the crim- 
son upholstery, the yielding seats, and the soft 
lamps remind us of the sanctum of a friend who 
has learned how to make the most of home. In- 
dividual characteristics stand out with the broad 
relief they have on shipboard, and a feeling of 
intimacy springs up which vents itself in confi- 
dences as to whom we are, what we are, and 
whither we are bound. There is a good deal of 
euchre, whist, and casino playing, and, when the 
ladies have retired, there are several old travelers 
who bring forth odorous bottles, of which the 
odor is not the strongest nor the better part. The 
objects that have momentarily united us are as 




Major Domo, Glen Eyrie. 



dissimilar as the traits of the persons who enter- 
tain them. There is a young earl traveling for 
pleasure, with unlimited means ; a delicate man 
who is leaving the austere climate of New Eng- 
land for better things in southern California, and 
who, as we accidentally discover, is so poor that 
he depends for subsistence on the contents of an 
old raillinery-box ; a weather-beaten miner who 
has not yet exhausted a lucky " strike " ; a Jap- 
anese student from Yale, who is always bland 
and courteous, and thirsty for information; an 
animated little cockney who is bound for New 
South Wales; a brisk, fluent, anecdotal man from 
Ohio, who has abandoned the cares of a countrj 
newspaper oflice for the emoluments of a consu- 
lar appointment at Tahiti ; a star actress engaged 
to play an engagement in California ; a compla- 
cent millionaire of the Comstock lode ; and a frail, 
almost transparent, little woman, whose stren- 
uous breathing shows her suffering from asth- 
ma. There are travelers bound over this iron 
pathway across the continent to Vancouver's 
Island, to Chili, Peru, and Mexico, to the Sand- 
wich Islands, to Japan and China, to Alaska, and 
to Siberia ! The Golden Gate 
has become a door to nearly all 
quarters of the globe. But it is 
not for us to follow all of the 
passengers to their destinations. 
Our special interest is in the per- 
sons going to Colorado, among 
whom we discover that mild lit- 
tle invalid aforesaid, whose object 
is relief from her complaint; a 
substantial English squire and 
his wife who propose to " do " the 
country without leaving the beat- 
en path, and half a dozen young 
men and women from New York, 
who have come to rough it, to 
avoid hotels, and to camp out. 
If we follow those, we shall see 
what Colorado offers t<i different 
classes of visitors; and the fact 
of the matter is, that the State is 
so enmeshed by railways and 
stage - lines nowadays, that a 
" transient " like the English 
squire, who has only a few weeks 
to give to it, can see nearly all 
the varieties of scenery without 
exposing himself to any hardship 
or danger. There are hotels and 
cities now, where a few years 
ago the tent of the explorer or 
the prospector was the only hab- 
itation in an area of a hundred 
miles. True, the squire can not 
know the solitudes of the raoun- 



VACATIONS IN COLOKADO. 



n 




Rainbow Falls, Ute Pass. 

tain-peaks, or the cra^giness of the preeminent 
clifts, but, without once putting his portly person 
to distress, he can see all the other phases of 
Nature, which are many, in this Western won- 
derland. Five years ago, we stood on the sum- 



mit of the Sangre del 
Cristo Mountains after six 
hours of labor. Tall pines 
cast their long shadows on 
the slopes, and moaned as 
the rising wind stirred 
among their straight and 
dusky branches. Now and 
then an Alpine bluebell 
nodded at us, or a wild 
rose peeped out of a thick- 
et. The valleys lay under 
a dense growth of shrubbery as leafy 
and <Xb lustrous as the arbor-vitse. 
We toiled over the innumerable 
foot-hills — the lowest loftier than 
Mount Washington — and far away 
could see the snowy spires and 
domes of the Sierra Blanca, and the 
smooth, precipitous gray walls of 
Baldy Peak. No sooner had we at- 
tained the crest of the hill than 
another still higher appeared, and 
our outlook expanded every minute. 
We followed the trail through a 
deep grove, and glanced down 
through a natural clearing in the 
^"^ pines and aspens on ninety miles of 

country, in which the more distant 
mountains looked like islands in a 
wide ocean. The life-limits were 
not far above, and the wind roared among the 
trees with the sound of a tremendous cata- 
ract. Whole forests of pines were prone on 
the slopes, torn from their beds by the tem- 
pests of the previous winter, and in all the 



./ 



72 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



outlook there was not a cabin or a house to be 
seen. 

A railway now encircles this same summit. 
"Up, up," tliat charming author, " H. H.," has 
written, " nine thousand feet up across a neck of 
the Sangre del Cristo range itself, down the oth- 
er side, and out among the foot-hills to the vast 
San Luis Valley, the plucky little railroad has 
already pushed. It is a notable feat of engineer- 
ing. As the road winds among the mountains, 
its curves are so sharp that the timid and inex- 
perienced hold their breath. From one track 
running along the edge of a precipice, you look 
to another which you are presently to reach ; it 
lies high on the mountain-side, four hundred feet 
above your head, yet it looks hardly more than a 
stone's-throw across the ravine between. The 
curve by which you are to chmb up this hill is 
a thirty-degree curve. To the non-professional 
mind it will perhaps give a clearer idea of the 
curve to say that it is shaped like a mule-shoe — 
a much narrower shoe than a horseshoe. The 
famous horseshoe curve on the Pennsylvania 
road is broad and easy in comparison with this. 
There are three of these thirty-degree curves 
within a short distance of each other ; the road 
doubles on itself, like the path of a ship tacking 
in adverse winds. The grade is very steep, two 
hundred and eleven feet to the mile; the engines 
pant and strain, and the wheels make a strange 
sound, at once sibilant and ringing on the steel 
rails. You go but six miles an hour ; it seems 
like not more than four; the leisurely pace is so 
unwonted a one for steam-engines. . . . From 
the mouth of the pass to the summit is, measured 
by miles, fourteen miles; measured by hours, 
three hours ; measured by sensations, the length 
of a dream — that means a length with which 
figures and numbers have nothing in common. 
One dreams sometimes of flying in the air, some- 
times of going swiftly down or up endless stair- 
ways without resting his feet on the steps ; my 
recollection of being lifted up and through the 
Veta Pass, by steam, are like the recollections 
of such dreams. The summit is over nine thou- 
sand feet above the sea-level — tlie highest point 
reached by a railroad on this continent." 

When we looked down from here we likened 
our sensations to those of Vasco Nunez de Bal- 
boa " alone on a peak in Darien," as Keats sono- 
rously puts it ; but now there is a tourist stand- 
ing on the porch of the Summit House and send- 
ing the incense of a cigar to heaven, as if he 
were posted at the window of his club in Fifth 
Avenue I 

'What more can the squire see? A three 
hours' jaunt from Denver brings him to Monu- 
ment Park, and there he may study those abnor- 
mal geological developments which are a pre- 



dominant feature of the far West — a region which 
strikes one as being the creation and abode of 
some fanciful race of goblins, who have twisted 
everything, from a shaft of rock to an old pine- 
tree, into a whimsical and incredulous shapeless- 
ness. The eroded sandstones impress us as the 
result of a disordered dream — the preposterous 
handiwork of a crack-brained mason, with a 
remembrance of Caliban's island lingering in his 
head. Those in Monument Park are ranged in 
two rows lengthwise through an elliptical basin. 
They are cones from twelve to twenty-tive feet 
in height, and may be said to resemble mush- 
rooms at the first glance, though a more imagina- 
tive person than the squire is apt to find himself 
transfiguring them into odd-looking men and ani- 
mals. Think of several sugar-loaves, such as are 
seen in grocers' windows, with plates or trays 
nicely balanced on their peaks, or of several 
candle-extinguishers with pennies on tops, and 
you may obtain an idea of what these geological 
curiosities are. Each pillar is capped with a 
conglomerate of sand and pebbles cemented by 
iron, and, this being so much harder than the 
underlying yellow sandstone, has resisted the 
eroding influences, and in some cases extends 
continuously over several pillars, thus forming a 
natural colonnade. 

In the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyrie, Chey- 
enne Caflon and Williams Cafton, all of which are 
as accessible from Denver as Hampstead Heath is 
from London, other rock phantasies of a grander 
sort may be seen, but the abnormal is not a last- 
ing source of pleasure, and the squire gladly 
passes from it to Nature in her sublimer moods. 
He visits the three cailons of the Boulder, and is 
awed by then- vertical walls of basalt and granite, 
which are exalted from the narrow bed of a 
stream to tremendous heights and occasionally 
split by transverse chasms into which a ray of 
sunshine never creeps. The locomotive whirls 
him through Clear Creek Canon, with its sheer 
and overarching cliffs and rushing stream. The 
Concord coach with six horses conveys him to 
steep defiles into Leadville, where there is all the 
urgency of a city among mountain-tops. He 
visits Chicago Lakes in the saddle — two crystal 
basins held on the slopes of Mount Rosalie, 
within a few feet of twelve thousand above the 
sea-level, which at night are crusted with ice 
even in midsummer — ice that melts as the days 
warm, and admits the vision in twelve or fifteen 
feet of dazzlingly pure bluish water while the 
snow presses on the margin and from it spring 
delicate flowers of marvelously soft colors. Near 
the lakes he finds Idaho Springs, the curative 
properties of which relieve him of a threatening 
touch of the rheumatism, and at Manitou Springs 
he falls into a curious little world of fashion with. 



VACATIONS IN" COLORADO. 



73 




Clear Creek Canon. 



"hops" and like festivities, night after night. 
From Manitou he ascends Pike's Peak, on the 
topmost pinnacle of which he lets his heart fill 
with the emotion that the outlook invariably 
inspires — an outlook that embraces in a glance 



the silent billows of the plains and the chaotic, 
gashed, knife-like peaks, before whose feet tliese 
endless yellow waves have ceased to beat, like 
an eager living creature struck with despair at 
omnipotent opposition. 



74 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



All these things the squire sees without any 
more fatigue than a delicate woman could endure, 
and without barbarianism of any sort. Every 
night he sleeps in a secure and well-furnished 
bedroom ; his meals are served in clean if not lux- 
urious dining-rooms by polite attendants ; he is 
not once sliot at, and no attempt is made at his 
scalp — indeed, he does not meet one Indian in all 
his peregrinations ; and, though at Denver there 
are shops filled with bowie-knives and six-shoot- 



ers, buckskin breeches and moccasins, he perceives 
that these things are more in demand as memen- 
tos of adventures (never experienced) by tourists 
than by the natives of that interesting and pro- 
gressive " Metropolis of the Plains," as it loves to 
be called. 

After the squire's fashion, Colorado with its 
most salient features may be embraced in a 
charming summer excursion lasting only a few 
weeks. But, if one has more time to spare, 




Grey's Peak. 



and is young, strong, and sound, and can get a 
few congenial companions, who will not mind 
a bed of boughs and a supper witliout a table- 
cloth, the example of the camping-out party that 
we met in the Pullman is the one to be followed. 
The quality of hotels — whether tliis ruisine be 
good or that indiflrerent — the departures of trains, 
all the cares of routine travel, then become the 
shadows of an unreal dream, and the miserable 



conventions of society are cast aside with an ex- 
hilarating sense of relief. 

There are camping-out parties and camping- 
out parties. "We have seen a cavalcade of ladies 
and gentlemen leaving Denver with an outfit so 
elaborate that it has excited tlie risibility of small 
boys to a convulsive degree — with wall tents for 
each member, patent stoves, spring beds, easy- 
chairs and such a quantity of impedimenta that 



VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 



75 



more than one pack-animal has been necessary 
for each person in addition to his own '' mount.". 
We don't despise spring beds nor easy-chairs — 
ah, no ! we have felt the rough edge of too many 
campaigns for that ; but all these things limit the 
movements of the party, and that complete change 
of life which is supposed to be the peculiar ad- 
vantage of camping out becomes impossible. A 
camp may be established among the woods, and 
the balsam of the pines may be breathed to the 
full. What sort of a camp is it, however, where 
all the members sit down on stools to a covered 
table, and eat a dinner of pretentious canned 
stuflEs? It is a garden-party, no more nor less! 



perhaps beneficial — no doubt very enjoyable, but 
it is expensive, yet circumscribed, and it is not 
the real thing ; it is a fastidious imitation, and, 
except that the roof is canvas instead of shingles, 
there are many taverns among the foot-hills 
where the same advantages could be had at a 
much smaller outlay. 

Now, let us see how our acquaintances of the 
Union Pacific manage it. The three ladies are 
simply dressed in strong flannels with short petti- 
coats and thick-soled boots with flat heels. Their 
experience is only new as to the country, not as 
to the manner of life, for they have already done 
the Adirondacks and the Rangeley Lakes with 




their husbands, and they know that tent-life un- 
der ordinary conditions will not be too severe for 
them— something thatjt is desirable every woman 
should understand before entering on an expedi- 
tion of the kind. They can walk sixteen miles a 
day without straining themselves, and they can 
listen to the rain pattering on their tents without 
dreading a cold to-morrow\ The men are vig- 
orous, courageous fellows, with a keen zest for 
sport, who, instead of feeling that the presence 
of their wives will embarrass them in their pur- 
suits, are aware that these ladies can angle and 
aim almost as well as tliemselves, and will make 
camp-life far more happy than it possibly could be 



without them. The more essential prerequisites 
of success in camping out are in the dispositions 
of the members of the party, and herein they are 
indicated. Nervous, delicate, fidgety people can 
only enjoy themselves by a prodigious eftbrt of 
the imagination. 

The less elaborate the outfit the more mov- 
able the party, and our six friends dispense with 
everything that is not necessary. Two V-tents 
suffice for all, one for the three ladies and the 
other for the three men. The " kitchen " is 
packed in a box less than two feet square ; the 
only provisions taken are canned vegetables, tea, 
coffee, flour, sugar, condiments, and baking-pow- 



76 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



der. The men mean to find the rest. The whole 
equipment can be carried by three iurros (An- 
glice, asses), and now behold our party with a 
guide and a packer in the field ! 

They are absolutely independent of all the 
world : they travel for days together without 
meeting a stranger ; they enter valleys wherein 
the primitive sanctity of Nature still remains ; 
they pitch their tents on summits known only to 
surveyors, and they have all the exhilaration of 
discovery, for what they find has no mention in 
any guide-book. There are long, vitalizing days 
spent along the margin of lakes whose bounda- 
ries are the granite and basaltic peaks of the main 
range, and whose surface is silvered wliile the 
sunlight lasts by the quivering reflections of 
snows that never melt — lakes which yield them 
trout by the score ; other days there are of swift- 
flying cloud and high winds, when all the earth 
seems to be in visible motion and the pulses beat 
with eager responsiveness — days in wildernesses 
of pine where it is always afternoon ; days in the 
silent and spacious " parks " where the verdure 
is soft and abundant ; days on the peaks them- 
selves ; days of toil ending with views of unut- 
terable splendor, and nights so calm that the 
throbbing of the stars seems audible. It is one 
thing to stand on a summit like that of Pike's 



Peak, which has been trodden down by men's 
feet — which nearly every day in summer is the 
resort of excursion parties — and it is another 
to gaze out upon a vast country from an apex 
which may never before have been overcome, 
and upon which, at least, no sign of man exists. 
There are a grandeur and exaltation in the isola- 
tion, and the vesture of earth seems to fall away 
from us in the contemplation of it. 

After the toil and sights of the day, more- 
over, comes repose of a sort for princes to envy. 
Before erecting the tents the men dig out three 
shallow troughs, in the space to be covered by 
each — three troughs seven feet long and three 
wide — each of which they fill with small cuttings 
from the pines, which form a springy and aro- 
matic mattress. Over the branches they spread 
successively a sheet of heavy canvas, a rubber 
blanket, and three California blankets, which 
together make a bed that gently hurries the per- 
son lying on it into sweet and immediate sleep. 
We can not specify all the pleasures these adven- 
turers experience. They dine on brook-trout and 
venison steaks, lunch on cold grouse, and sup on 
toasted quail and potted rabbit. When we think 
of them, we decide at once that this is the best 
way of seeing Colorado; and, one way or another, 
Colorado ought to be seen by every American. 



THE STRAWBERRY-PICKERS 

From " Alice of Monmouth," by E. C. Stedman. 



^M -^^ 




THE strawberry-vines lie in the sun, 
Their myriad tendrils twined in one ; 
Spread like a carpet of richest dyes. 
The strawberry-field in sunshine lies. 
Each timorous berry, blushing red, 



Has folded the leaves above her head. 
The dark-green curtains genmied with dew; 
But each blissful berry, peering through, 

Shows like a flock of the underthread — 
The crimson woof of a downy cloth 
Where the elves may kneel and plight their troth. 



THE STRAWBERRY-PICKEES. 



YT 



Run through the rustling vines to show* 

Each picker an even space to go, 
Leaders of twinkling cord divide 
The field in lanes, from side to side ; 

And here and there, with patient care, 

Lifting the leafage everywhere, 
Rural maidens and mothers dot 
The velvet of the strawberry-plot: 

Fair and freckled, old and young, 

With baskets at their girdles hung. 

Searching the plants with no rude haste 
Lest berries should hang unpicked, and waste. 

Of the pulpy, odorous, hidden quest. 

First gift of the fruity months, and best. 



Crates of the laden baskets cool 

Under the trees at the meadow's edge. 
Covered with grass and dripping sedge. 
And lily-leaves from the shaded pool ; 
Filled, and ready to be borne 
To market before the morrow morn. 
Beside them, gazing at the skies. 
Hour after hour a young man lies. 
From the hillside, under the trees. 
He looks across the field, and sees 
The waves that ever beyond it climb 
Whitening the rye-slope's early prime ; 
At times he listens, listlessly, 
To the tree-toad singing in the tree. 
Or sees the catbird pick his fill. 
With feathers adroop and roguish bill, 
But often, with a pleased unrest, 
He lifts his glances to the west, 

Watching the kirtles, red and blue. 
Which cross the meadow in his view ; 
And he hears anon the busy throng 
Singing the Strawberry-Pickers' Song : 



"Rifle the sweets our meadows bear, 
Ere the day has reached its nooning ; 
While the skies are fair, and the morning air 
Awakens the thrush's tuning. 
Softly the rivulet's ripples flow ; 
Dark is the grove that lovers know ; 
Here, where the whitest blossoms blow, 
The reddest and ripest berries grow. 

"Bend to the crimson fruit, whose stain 
Is glowing on lips and fingers; 
The sun has lain in the leafy plain, 
And the dust of his pinions lingers. 
Softly the rivulet's ripples flow ; 
Dark is the grove that lovers know ; 
Here, where the whitest blossoms blow. 
The reddest and ripest berries grow. 



" Gather the cones which lie concealed, 

With their vines your foreheads wreathing, 
The strawberry-field its sweets shall yield. 
While the western winds are breathing. 
Softly the rivulet's ripples flow ; 
Dark is the grove that lovers know ; 
Here, where the whitest blossoms blow, 
The reddest and ripest berries grow." 



From the far hillside comes again 

An echo of the pickers' strain. 

Sweetly the group their cadence keep ; 

The vines are stripped and the song is sung, 

A joyous labor for old and young — 

For the blithe children, gleaning behind 
The women, nuirvelous treasures find. 



HOW TO PRESERVE AUTUMN 
LEAVES. 

OF all the methods by which we attempt to 
keep the glories of one season before our 
eyes throughout tlie yeai', there is none more 
attractive, and, if the leaves have been success- 
fully preserved in all their delicacy and variety 
of tint, none more effective than that afforded 
by " autumn leaves." Nearly every one has 
made the experiment at one time or another of 
gathering them ; but their beauty is evanescent 
unless fixed by some appropriate method of dry- 
ing and preserving; and so few of the methods 
commonly employed yield satisfactory results, 
that many persons refrain from collecting leaves 
which they have learned by experience will only 
be spoiled on their hands. From a lady whose 
success in this and similar matters has obtained 
for her quite a local reputation, and the product 
of whose skill we have ourselves admired, we 
have been fortunate enough to secure the follow- 
ing description of her method. We quote directly 
from her letter, though it was not designed for 
publication : 

"From my own observation," she says, "I 
think it a mistaken idea that frosts are needed to 
brighten and deepen the tints of autumn leaves. 
'Leaves liave their time to fall' is as cei'tain as 
any of Nature's marvels, and they do it much 
more gracefully in the mellowing sunshine, ripen- 
ing day by day, every day showing new tints and 
beauties, until they fall, their mission accom- 
plished. To preserve their coloring, they should 
be gathered from the trees hef ore frosts (getting 
all the shades and tints possible, of course), singly 
and in sprays suitable for pressing, and at once 
placed between the leaves — not too near together 
— of books or newspapers, and several pounds' 



78 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



weight laid npon them. They should be kept, 
while pressing, in a cool place, and as often as 
every other day (every day is better during the 
first week) changed into new books. This is i 
important because the paper absorbs the damp- 
ness from the leaves, and they soon become 
discolored if allowed to remain. 

"They should be kept in press until thor- 
oughly dry — between two and three weeks — 
otherwise they shrivel ; they are then ready for 
a coating of oil or varnish. I find a mixture of 
three ounces of spirits of turpentine, two ounces 
of boiled linseed-oil, and half an ounce of white 
varnish preferable to either alone. Get a perfectly 
smooth board, large enough to lay a spray upon 
with no reaching of the leaves beyond the outer 
edges, or in an unlucky moment comes the wail, 
' How could I be so careless as to break off the 
very loveliest leaf! ' I have done it more than 
once, and have thereby learned that autumn 
leaves are brittle things and require tender han- 
dling. Take a piece of soft cloth to apply the 
dressing — a brush does not do it as evenly — and 
there must be no streaks left ; they are a blemish 
when dry. 

"After the application, the leaves must be 
laid carefully on boards or papers (not overlap- 
ping each other) until dry, and then disposed of 
as taste suggests, avoiding as much as possible a 
stiff, unnatural arrangement. They charm me 



most in sprays and groups on curtains and walls, 
with or without ferns ; but they can be arranged 
very artistically on the panels of doors, using 
starch for holding them in place. I have seen 
them used with evergreens in winter decorations 
with great effect ; the stem can be broken off 
and a fine wire fastened in its place, which makes 
tiiem a little more yielding to handle. There is 
beauty for some in a wreath, so called, of autumn 
leaves, but I have always failed to see it, more 
especially if under glass; they have such a help- 
less, imprisoned look, the beauty all flattened out 
of them. 

" Not long since I read the maledictions of an. 
individual on a newspaper; he had read in it, 
' To preserve autumn leaves, put a little white 
wax on the surface and pass a warm iron over 
them.' He said he sat up till after midnight 
ruining a bushel of the loveliest leaves he ever 
saw ; 'it left them the color of an old felt hat.' 
I have had some experience in the ironing pro- 
cess, and can truthfully say it spoils both leaves 
and temper. 

" The leaves of sumach and the Virginia 
creeper, or five-fingered ivy, will retain their 
beauty for a time, if pressed, and can be used to 
advantage vpith other leaves; but after drying 
they have not much substance, and soon 'the 
grace of the fashion of them perisheth' — as do 
so many other beautiful things." 



NEW HAVEN SKETCHES. 



By George T. Ferris. 



WEST ROCK AND ITS ENVIRONS. 

THERE are very few cities in the country 
better known to cultivated people than the 
Elm City, the seat of one of the two greatest 
universities in the United States. What at the 
beginning of the century was little more, judged 
by modern standards, than a superior academy, 
has become a noble seat of learning, rivaling 
Oxford and Cambridge in England, Gottingen 
and Jena in Germany. Here every summer, 
when the magnificent elms have their full gala- 
dress on, and the beautiful scenery which tempts 
the visitor to stray in every direction is at its 
brightest, at least two thousand strangers con- 
gregate to see sons, brothers, and lovers step 
from youth to manhood from the threshold of 
cloistered study. Every State sends its delega- 
tion, and perhaps few conventions so fully rep- 
resent the social and intellectual worth of the 
country. 



The streets are thronged with the young and 
beautiful of both sexes; the very air is alive 
with the music of mirth. In every rustic lane 
may be seen parties of pleasure-seekers enjoying 
the picturesque landscapes which variegate the 
environs of the beautiful college town, dreaming 
amid its ancient trees, and sedate with the at- 
mosphere of student-life. 

Yet, in spite of this annual visitation, which 
to the alumni of the college and the friends of 
the student is almost like a pilgrimage, there are 
so many who are ignorant of the charming sur- 
roundings of the Oxford of America, that we 
are tempted to make some brief sketches of tra- 
dition, life, and landscape, which are not intend- 
ed to be complete pictures, but only off-hand 
studies. 

Let us wander out of the city proper, with 
its clean, wide, solemn streets, arched with the 
umbrageous roofs of elms one and two centuries 
old, northwest of New Haven, and observe the 
beautiful villas, alternated with substantial and 



NEW HAVEN SKETCHES. 



79 



cozy farmhouses, that meet the eye at every 
turn. About all these there is an atmosphere 
of culture and refinement. We see no such 
monstrous caricatures of architecture as those 
with which tlie nouveaicx riches so often dis- 
figure the fair face of Nature in building coun- 
try-seats. The rich residents of New Haven 
have mostly been so for several generations, and 
a certain solid aesthetic culture has come down 
to them with their money-bags. The same char- 
acteristic may be noted in the farmhouses. 
The buildings are often old-fashioned, many of 



them ancient as the Pequot war. But nowhere 
can we see any of that slattern carelessness so 
often found about American farmhouses. The 
yards are trim, and, in the open, sunny spaces 
where the trees do not shut out the light and 
warmth, the eye is very apt to remark beautiful 
flower-beds evidently guarded by loving hands. 
One noticeable feature, too, is the multiplication 
of splendid box-wood hedges, an eminently clas- 
sic taste, as we may gather from the descrip- 
tions of the magnificent Roman villas which 
covered Italy in the time of the emperors. 




^: 'M«m,f'*:' 



Mwm 



In the suburb of Westville is the residence of 
Donald G. Mitchell, who seems of late years to 
have rested on his laurels as a writer, and to have 
devoted himself to landscape-gardening. "Ik 
Marvel " years ago was the delight of the young 
people of his generation, and some of us have 
not yet forgotten his " Reveries of a Bachelor.'' 
It is questionable whether we have been alto- 
gether repaid for the loss of the literary products 
of this genial writer's fancy in its application to 
the practical yet poetic pursuit of landscape-gar- 
dening ; though such an example of aesthetic cul- 
ture, in a field generally barren in America, is 
never without its good results. 



Edgewood farm, as Ik Marvel calls his home 
in honest, simple fashion, is deservedly one of 
the show-places of New Haven. Certainly not 
on account of the beauty of the residence itself, 
for it is a simple, old-fashioned, squarely built 
house, with rambling wings overgrown with 
creepers, and with clumps of fine trees on the not 
very extensive lawn. There is a hearty, almost 
picturesque, homeliness in the house and its sur- 
roundings, yet not indicative of aught more than 
the residence of the scholar and the country gen- 
tleman. It is in the farm itself, a rocky, broken, 
rolling sweep of several hundred acres, from 
whose higher ground there is a noble view of 



80 



APPLETONS' SUMMEPv BOOK. 



the shining waters and delicious stretches of j 
landscape, that the attraction exists. The owner I 
has taxed all the resources of his art, and of a 
singularly rich and original fancy, to make a 
" pleasance " such as that stately lover of forest 
and garden, Lord Bacon, would have delighted 
in, if we may judge from one of his best and 
most pregnant essays. 

Mr. Mitchell has refrained from interfering 
with Nature except under the guidance of a 
severe and intelligent taste. The forest portions 
have been carefully trimmed out, every bit of 
underbrush removed, and the deep, soft turf is 
like velvet. Here and there open spaces let a 
flood of sunlight into the solemn darkness of the 
umbrageous shadow. The rough stones of the 
fields have been built into the semblance of 
woodland temples, and every possibility of sug- 
gestion borrowed to deepen the somber yet artis- 
tic aspect of the forest interior. Wherever a 
brook, in its sinuous route through the fields, 
gives opportunity, it has been transformed into a 
miniature lake or waterfall. On the higher ele- 
vations of ground quaint summer-houses look oif 
toward the bay, and noble hedges or fences, 
made of huge gnarled roots interlocked and over- 
grown with creepers, everywhere meet the eye 
of the visitor as he wanders over the beautiful 
grounds. It is in the harmony and unity of de- 
sign, however, that the chief charm of Edgewood 
lies. So well has the artist-owner accomplished 
his purpose, that there is not the least sense of 
discrepancy in the appearance of the Swiss cha- 
let farmhouses, constructed of rough stones yet 
wonderfully picturesque in style, which have 
been built for the workmen. 

From beautiful and highly cultivated Edge- 
wood it is not many minutes' walk to the bold, 
lonely steep of West Rock, consecrated, in the 
minds of the sons of the Puritans, as the hiding- 
place of Goflfe, Whalley, and Dixwell, when the 
three stern regicides were obliged to hide like 
wolves and foxes from the pursuivants of Charles 
II. This wild spot, where the flavor of romance 
and savagery still lingers, for its immediate vi- 
cinity is as desolate and forbidding as in the 
days when it sheltered the slayers of a king, is 
about four miles northwest of the New Haven 
State-House. 

On one side, facing the south, it is a lofty, 
broken bluff, a mass of yellow shale and sand- 
stone, which the winds and rains have beaten 
against so insidiously that it seems a crumbling 
ruin. On the other sides thick forests with 
tangled undergrowth guard the approaches. 
Altogether a gloomy, wild, somber spot, it seems 
a fit place to have been chosen in the olden time 
for the purpose which tradition assigned to it. 
The outlook from the summit commands a view 



of Long Island Sound for many miles. Not a 
sail can approach the harbor but what, far 
away, it may be seen from the rocky pinnacle. 
The visitor now gazes on a beautiful and popu- 
lous city, villages dotting the country far and 
wide, the stacks of manufactories belching forth 
towers of smoke, clusters of farmhouses thick- 
ly sown every quarter of a mile, fields richly 
dressed by the thrift of man cooperating with 
the kindliness of Nature, the bright waters of 
the Sound bearing on their silver surface innu- 
merable vessels skimming along like sea-gulls — 
everywhere the marks of a highly advanced civ- 
ilization lending its final touches to the naturally 
picturesque. 

What a contrast to the spectacle that met the 
sad and straining vision of the three regicide 
judges, when daily they climbed from their 
rugged cave to the top of the rock watching for 
the vessel which, perchance, might bear the 
king's colors and the king's warrant, the sure 
passport to a scaftold and a tomb ! Let the 
imagination uncover the past with its successive 
layers of events, like the writings on a palimp- 
sest, and stand with Whalley, Goffe, and Dixwell 
on their eagle eyrie. 

Stern, savage, yet romantic and striking as 
their own dark fate, is the outlook. Crouched 
in the little valley at the head of the harbor is 
the sturdy Puritan settlement of New Haven, 
Quinepiack as it was first named, and Eed Mount 
as it was known to the Manhattan Dutch. No 
lofty spires, glittering roofs, or factory-chimneys 
stand out against the sunshine, only a few low- 
built, square, beetling houses, each one of which 
is half a fortress. Here and there a more ])re- 
tentious dwelling, though hardly distinguishable 
in the distance, marks the home of one of the 
magnates of the colony. With a spy-glass, per- 
haps, could be distinguished the whipping-post, 
pillory, and stocks with some poor unfortunate 
expiating in their embraces the crime of cooking 
a dinner or driving a horse on the Sabbath. A 
homely, solid edifice in the center of a large in- 
closure marks the "meeting-house," where the 
austere religionists veritably wrestle with God 
in prayer, and feast on sermons two hours long. 
Not far from the Long Wharf of to-day a mas- 
sive block-house or fort frowning with culverins 
speaks of constant readiness for attack. The 
Puritan ancient was as prompt with the tempo- 
ral as with the spiritual weapon. 

In other directions the three exiles can see 
little except a wild solitude : lonely waters on 
the south, a wilderness with an occasional clus- 
ter of houses west and north, and the tiny settle- 
ment of Milford standing like a vidette outpost 
of the mother colony. 

The cave in which the fugitives were con- 



NEW HAVEN SKETCHES. 



81 



cealed, about three quar- 
ters of a mile from the 
southern extremity, was 
well chosen for shelter. 
The huge, broad pillars 
of stone, twenty feet in 
height, fence in an in- 
closure forty feet square, 
and rude, flat slabs and 
inclined masses of rock 
arch it above. Lofty 
trees, until recent years, 
secluded the entrance. 
By thatching the open- 
ings in the roof with 
leaves and boughs, it 
was made a barely habit- 
able retreat. Here for 
four months the hunted 
exiles gnawed their own 
sad hearts in silence and 
isolation, for their friends 
hardly dared visit them, 
from fear of revealing the 
secret. 

At last they disap- 
peared as suddenly as 
they had come, Dixwell 
excepted, who lived in 
New Haven under the 
name of Davids till the 
time of his death. Goffe 
and Whalley died at Had- 
ley, Massachusetts, some 
years afterward, and 
were buried in the min- 
ister's cellar, whence 
their bones were finally 
transferred and placed 
by those of their brother 
exile. Three stones in 
the rear of Center Church 
now indicate their rest- 
ing - place. They are 
marked: " E. W. . . . 
1678" ; " M. G. . . . 
IfiSO " ; and " .J. D., 
Esq. . . . 1688." 

The pretty suburb 
of West Haven, which 
hugs the west side of 
the harbor, is a perfect 
garden. Here we find 
a succession of highly 
cultivated market-farms, 
which are models for 
imitation in their com- 
pleteness of appliances 
and their arrangements. 




i 



82 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



Thence early vegetables are shipped in large 
quantities, not only to New Haven and adjoin- 
ing towns, but even to New York, Boston, Hart- 
ford, and Springfield. Most of these market- 
gardeners are Germans or Scandinavians, and 
many of them have become rich through their 
thrift and industry. Wine-growing has of late 
been introduced and extensive vineyards planted, 
the soil and exposure in some parts of the town- 
ship being peculiarly adapted to this crop. 

The visitor to West Haven, however, will 
find his most agreeable rambles along the beach 
which stretches in picturesque and diversified 
curves for about four miles to the mouth of the 
harbor. Its great width at this part and the 
fact that it is not landlocked cause the waters 
of the bay during southeast storms to roughen 
their ordinarily serene expanse into giant waves, 
and the beat of the breakers on the western 
beach can be heard many miles rolling like con- 
tinuous thunder. In serene weather the harbor 
and its surroundings are very beautiful. Sym- 
metrical in shape, its borders agreeably diversi- 
fied with costly villas, spacious farmhouses, and 
a happy combination of grove and meadow, hill- 
side and level, we know of few arms of Long 
Island Sound, famous for its charming estuaries, 
more attractive. At ebb-tide both beaches may 
be seen dotted with bending figures, raking the 
sand for soft-shell clams; or farther out on the 
mud-fiats, " proggers," as they are known in the 
local patois of New England seaside places, 
searching for quahogs. These two varieties of 
shell-fish, though less prized elsewhere, are dear 
to the heart of " Down East " gastronomes, for 
do they not furnish the material for those dainty 
and succulent feasts known as clam-bakes? And 
who that has been at one does not treasure it in 
memory alongside even of the Apician banquet, 
where all of the artifices of the cook have been 
exhausted to excite the appetite of the jaded epi- 
cure? 

At no time does the bay present a more pic- 
turesque view than when the college racing- 
boats are out on Wednesday or Saturday after- 
noons for the exercise of their crews. The col- 
legians have some dozen or more rowing-clubs, 
and when these are on the water, as they not 
unfrequently are, all together, the bright uni- 
forms and flashing oars give peculiar touches of 
color and brilliancy to the outlook, as the spec- 
tator gazes from the beach. 

II. 

EAST ROCK. 

The English, in pursuing the broken and de- 
moralized Fequot tribe from east to west, after 
they had inflicted on them the first terrible de- 



feat, realized the beauty and fertility of the 
country between Saybrook and Fairfield. On 
these fair reports Theophilus Eaton and a few 
associates, who had come from London in 1637 
to Plymouth, determined to make the present 
site of New Haven the establishment of a new 
colony. Eastward of New Haven the hostile 
Indians had been thoroughly crushed, and it was 
only between the new colony and the borders of 
Manhattan that the savages, who were for the 
most part tributaries of the Mohawks, were 
specially dangerous. The latter redoubted tribe, 
the leading sept of the confederacy of the Five 
Nations, had thus early acquired a potent feudal 
ascendancy over all the savage clans east, west, 
and north. It was perhaps fortunate for the 
Connecticut colony that the attention of the 
most dangerous of the Indian nations was ab- 
sorbed in quarreling with the sturdy Dutch, or 
it might have had a harder foe to battle than 
was found in that Hannibal of the New England 
savages, King Philip. 

The immunity of the country, eastward of 
Quinepiack, from the dread of midnight attack 
and massacre, caused many little thriving settle- 
ments to be made within short distance of the 
parent colony. These were the nuclei of the 
prosperous and busy towns which the visitor to 
the top of East Rock, one of the two giant 
buttresses guarding either fiank of New Haven 
Harbor, may see lying apparently almost within 
a stone's-throw of his lofty perch. Here multi- 
farious factories turn out all kinds of articles, 
from buttons and pins to steel rails and locomo- 
tives — nearly everything, in short, except the 
wooden nutmegs, which the facetious jokers of 
other States attribute to good old Connecticut as 
a favorite product. 

We will ask our readers to follow the ex- 
ample of the stranger visiting New Haven, and 
take a look from the stately observatory which 
commands so bright and pleasing a landscape. 

The drive from New Haven is a beautiful 
one, passing through a section of the city notable 
for its elegant villas, for it seems a veritable rus 
in urhe. This aspect is given by the extensive 
and picturesque grounds which inclose many of 
these fine mansions. One of the most costly of 
these is the residence, we believe, of the Presi- 
dent of the Whitney Arms Company, a descend- 
ant of the original inventor and founder, Eli 
Whitney, the inventor also of the cotlon-gin. 
Villa after villa flanks the broad, winding street, 
all the taste and culture of wealth giving finish 
and variety to the advantages of nature. A 
drive of about two miles and a half from the 
college buildings, and the visitor is at the foot 
of East Rock, a geological relic from some far- 
distant period, when the silent but fatal action 



NEW HAVEN SKETCHES. 



83 




of water gradually ground down the highlands | 
between two parallel ranges of hills into a beau- 
tiful valley. 

New Haven Harbor is formed by the conflu- 
ence of three streams — West River, and the 
Quinepiack, or Wallingford, and Mill Rivers on 
the east. Both the latter branch off like huge 
cords of silver, and may be seen from the top of 
the rock, meandering many miles through fertile 
meadows and prosperous towns. The number 
of mills driven by them would almost astonish 



the computation of those not familiar with the 
thrift and ingenuity which in the New England 
States utilize every drop of water-power. Near 
the mouth their resources are taxed in another 
sort, for every square inch of the current, as far 
as the rivers are influenced by the salt tides, 
flows over an oyster-bed. 

The last visit made by the writer to East 
Rock, one of the classic memories of the whilom 
Yale student, was on a bright fall day, which 
rendered all the surroundings of the drive pecu- 



84: 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



liarly agreeable. The rock itself is a huge, 
scarred, shambling mass of sedimentary forma- 
tion, its lower face worn and eroded by the same 
influences which have battered its twin brother 
on the other side of the harbor. The lower por- 
tion of the rock is covered with thick, scrubby 
underbrush, through which tbe road winds its 
way around, with a most obstinate predilection 
to select the difficult and rugged portions. If 
the livery-horses of New Haven could speak 
their minds, they would probably condemn East 
Rock most fervidly to a hotter region than can 
even be found under the equator. After twenty 
minutes of puffing and straining, the top is 
reached, and the visitor finds himself in a beau- 
tiful grove, covering a great flat shelf, inclosing, 
perhaps, several acres of land. This grove, in 
the center of which is a large, half-ruined stone 
mansion, is fenced in by high pickets, and the 
weather-stained sign-board warns ott' trespassers 
in rude and significant language which evidently 
"means business." 

The old tumble -down house has passed 
through some queer vicissitudes. It was built 
a matter of thirty years ago, perhaps, and was 
designed by the sanguine but unlucky specula- 
tor as a summer resort. Want of custom, how- 
ever, soon ruined him, and a very atrocious mur- 
der, committed there under circumstances which 
thrilled the community with horror, gave a 
moldy and unsavory odor to the place. Super- 
stition lent its uncanny atmosphere to the lonely 
grove, with its house standing there like a huge 
stone tomb, and after the latter became empty 
an appalling ghost-story grew up out of the tra- 
dition of the rock. The farming and fishing folk 
became afraid to go to the summit after nightfall. 

It is not uninteresting to notice in this place 
the peculiar tendency of the Puritan mind, even 
as shown in the instincts of modern New Eng- 
land, to lay stress on the supernatural. New 
England is to-day, par excellence^ the home 
of schools and colleges, the seat of the most 
imiformly intelligent population in the United 
States. Yet how numerous are the accredited 
tales of haunted houses, apparitions, and simi- 
lar shadows of mediseval credulity. The days 
of Salem witchcraft have projected some dis- 
tant reflection even into the clear light of the 
present. In the writer's college days, not very 
many years since, there were at least half a 
dozen " haunted houses " in and about New 
Haven. 

East Rock finally passed into the hands of a 
proprietor — a rude, ignorant man — who found 
means to exorcise the ghost. The grove was 
laid out as a sort of pleasure-garden, with swings, 
tables, etc., and the house became a great Sun- 
day resort for the lower orders. Here were 



such gatherings of the more vicious and dissi- 
pated, such outrageous orgies, that the authori- 
ties at last revoked the proprietor's license, for 
the establishment had degenerated into a crying 
nuisance. It was even suspected that it was a 
regular thieves' den and " fence." 

The owner, however, still clings to his high 
perch, and his moldy and mossy old stone ruin, 
and it is to this Cerberus that the searcher after 
the picturesque must pay tribute. For, perhaps, 
two weeks in the summer this source of revenue 
is a franchise of some value, but all the rest of 
the year it must furnish slender pickings. 

Indeed, the individual who comes shambling 
and shuffling out of the rear wing of the house, 
which alone is inhabited, looks seedy, surly, and 
disreputable in the extreme. It is only after re- 
peated calls that he has been made to crawl out 
of his shell and open the padlocked gate, for it 
is through this portal that the visitor must pass 
to reach the brow of the precipice, whence he 
gazes on as lovely a landscape as the sun ever 
gilded. 

A shock head of tow-colored elf-locks, skin 
shriveled and tanned into the semblance of parch- 
ment, bleary eyes, huge horny hands, and naked 
feet, thrust into shoes gaping at every seam, an 
exceedingly filthy woolen shirt with an odor sur- 
passing description, lower integuments of a simi- 
lar kind, fastened together by tow strings, and 
exposing the lean shanks — such is the aspect of 
the genius loci, who gazes at us with a look as 
suspicious and truculent as that of the half- 
starved dog that trots after him. 

Without a word he extends his grimy fingers. 
The gesture is enlightened by the sharp, avari- 
cious glance of the eyes. Fifty cents deposited 
in his palm softens the unhandsome face into 
something hke a smile, and opens the mouth, 
down which run streams of tobacco-juice. 

"Let ye in sooner if ye'd rung the bell," he 
said, pointing to an old, cracked bell, hanging 
over the gate, half hidden by a tall tree. 

" Stranger about yer, I guess. Not many as 
comes up to the rock now. Folks hain't got much 
stamps now, or else they're gettin all-fired stingy. 
Come from York way or Hartford way ? Chap 
up here last summer gave me two dollars " (this 
with a reproachful look at the half-dollar he had 
just received). 

"Raise anything up here? Yes! Used to 
raise the devil some afore the cussed justices 
took away an honest man's means of living. 
Now can't raise much but a little garden-truck." 

"Do you find much else to do except rent 
out the landscape ? " 

" No ! " said he, sullenly ; " except when some 
gentleman is dry, and wants a taste of good apple- 
brandy. Got some of the best stuff in the State, 



NEW HAVEN" SKETCHES. 



85 



'ily as butter and sweet as milk. Perhaps ye'd 
like to have a drink — sell it cheaper than they do 
in town ? " 

On signifying a desire to taste some of his 
nectar, he preceded us into the rear of the house, 
where this Yankee Ganymede decanted from a 
broken jug into two glasses a liquor whose vile 
smell did no injustice to the taste, for it scalded 
the throat like vitriol. His face relaxed again 
grimly as the doxiceur for the poison was given 
to him. To step out once more into the open air 
and bright sunshine was a relief after this assault 
upon the senses. 



A few steps through the trees bring us to the 
brow of the steep clitf, with its bird's-eye views 
of many miles. New Haven, with its steeples and 
spires, looks to be almost at the foot of the rock, 
and a little way to the southeast Fairhaven, the 
busiest center of the oyster-traffic, Baltimore ex- 
cepted, in the country. Toward the east and 
northeast we may see the towns of Wallingford, 
Bradford, Bethany, Woodbridge, and Hamden, 
thriving factory and farming towns, and one of 
the loveliest valleys in the State. On this charm- 
ing autumn day a golden haze softens the land- 
scape with a peculiar glamour, and lends a luscious, 




Old Fort, New Haven Harbor. 



half-tropical languor to what would be otherwise 
suggestive of energy, industry, and toil. The 
spectator lingers long on this noble lookout, and 
tears himself away from its visions with regret. 

Ten minutes' sharp drive from the foot of 
East Rock brings us to the village center of Fair- 
haven. The wide, well-shaded street, which ends 
in the great oyster-mart, is lined with pleasant 
and tasteful residences ; for some of these oyster- 
men are men of large fortunes, and have fished 
out of the waters snug packages of United States 
and railway securities, wallets fat to bursting with 



greenbacks, houses, and lands. The Fairhaven 
man transposes the swelling vaunt of Bardolph 
into — 

" The oyster is ray world, which I 
With my knife will open." 

An exceedingly ancient, fishy smell greets the 
nose, becoming more and more decided till the 
river is reached. Here are extensive warehouses 
and canning establishments, whence oysters are 
sent all over the world, some firms doing business 
amounting to hundreds of thousands of dollars a 



86 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



year. ISTearly every one is engaged in some line of 
business having to do with the luscious bivalves, 
from the urchin to the staid burgher. The river- 
wharves are lined, two and three deep, with well- 
appointed smacks, and a ship-yard does a very 
large business iu building these vessels. Not a 
few of the oystermen employ as many as ten 
or a dozen. The water property, for several 
miles' distance from the shore, is far more valu- 
able than the land acreage, and not the least im- 
portant feature in the litigation of the New Haven 
courts is that involving the extensive oyster-beds 
which yield so rich a harvest to their owners. 
The culture of the oyster as a scientific process 
is one of much interest, and but few people are 
aware of the care, study, and labor necessary to 
meet the enormous demand for this king of shell- 
fish. It is said that the crop harvested in New 
Haven waters, and finding its mart in the busy 
little burgh of Fairhaven, is from 5,000,000 to 
8,000,000 bushels annually. 

The average citizen of Fairhaven, as is natural 
with one engaged in an engrossing occupation 
taking in all of his fellows, has his idiosyncrasies 
of appearance. He is essentially a waterman. 
The oyster has stamped the physique of his cap- 
turers. He does not, like Jack Tar who sails the 
deep-blue waters, roll along like a ship in a swell, 
but there is a certain swing in his movements 
that tells of one much on the water. A fresh, 
weather-beaten complexion, a square, set posture 
in standing still, as of one bracing himself for a 
grip of the oyster-tongs, the potent weapon with 
which he makes war on his victims, a drawling 
speech, and a tendency to garnish his sentences 
with the strong condiments of language, mark 
the tiller of the oyster-beds, who is, nevertheless, 
an excellent, staid, worthy citizen, saying his 
prayers once a week as devoutly as any other 
Christian. 

A pleasant drive of a couple of miles over 
well-kei)t country roads, with many a fine man- i 
sion on either side, finds one at Fort Hale, the i 
only harbor-defense, we believe, which New Ha- 
ven possesses. It is a small work, designed to | 
mount about twenty guns, and to accommodate j 
a garrison of three or four hundred. It was ori- | 
ginally built as a mere earthwork, at the time of | 
the Revolution, when the traitor Benedict Arnold 
ravaged the shore of the Sound so mercilessly. 
New Haven, however, fortunately escaped the ; 
polite attentions of the whilom druggist, who j 
mayhap had some lingering tenderness for his 
early home. 

During the war of 1812 the fort was enlarged 
and elaborated, but afterward allowed to tumble 
into ruin. During the late civil war repairs to 
the extent of several hundred thousand dollars 
were carried on, and a heavy artillery regiment 



kept iu garrison. At present the work is entire- 
ly unused, and the guns have been for the most 
part removed. The fort has no function now 
except to serve as a picturesque reminder of war- 
like possibilities, or become the objective point 
of a pleasant walk or drive. Certainly, a shot 
has never yet been fired at it, and probably never 
will be, unless it is selected for target-practice to 
test our own heavy ordnance. 



WITCH-HAZEL. 

\ ITHAT time the dainty darlings of the Spring, 
V V Summer's ripe beauties, and gay Autumn's 
train 
In swift procession trooped o'er hill and plain, 
Through grove and vale, while every bird did sing 
His fitting song, we had no thought of thee, 
O gloomy sorceress of the dark, dark woods. 
Waving aloft thy flowerless magic rods. 
And whispering to the winds mysteriously! 
But when the merry carnival is o'er. 
The banners furled, the bright robes laid away, 
How joyously we greet each little ray 
That gleams from thy well-hoarded golden store! 
The witchery of thy wands astounds not more 
Than these pale stars that light the wintry day. 

E. T. F. 



MOUNTAIN-CLIMBING. 

AN experienced pedestrian and climber gives 
the following practical advice on moun- 
tain-climbing : "When you climb a mountain, 
make up your mind for hard work, unless there 
is a carriage-road, or the mountain is low and of 
gentle ascent. If possible, make your plans so 
that you will not have to carry much up and 
down the steep parts. It is best to camp at the 
foot of the mountain, or a part of the way up, 
and, leaving the most of your baggage there, to 
take an early start next morning so as to go up 
and down the same day. This is not a necessity, 
however; but if you camp on the mountain-top 
you run more risk from the cold, fog (clouds), 
and showers, and you need a warmer camp and 
more clothing than down below. 

" Often there is no water near the top ; there- 
fore, to be on the safe side, it is best to carry a 
canteen. After wet weather, and early in the 
summer, you can often squeeze a little water from 
the moss that grows on the mountain-tops. 

" It is so apt to be chilly, cloudy, or showery at 
the summit, that you should take a rubber blanket 
and some other article of clothing to put on if 
needed. Although a man may sometimes ascend 
a mountain, and stay on the top for hours, in his 



SUMMER PICTURES. 



87 



shirt-sleeves, it is never advisable to go so thinly 
clad ; oftener there is need of an overcoat, while 
the air in the valley is uncomfortably warm. Do 
not wear the extra clothing in ascending, but 
keep it to put on when you need it. This rule 
is general for all extra clothing; you will find it 
much better to carry than to wear it. 

" Remember that mountain-climbing is exces- 
sively fatiguing; hence go slowly, make short 
rests very often, eat nothing between meals, and 
drink sparingly. 

" There are few mountains that it is advisable 
for ladies to climb. When there is a road, or the 
way is open and not too steep, they may attempt 
it ; but to climb over loose rocks and through 
scrub-spruce for miles is too difficult for them." 

To this may be added a suggestion or two 
from the excellent work of Dr. Elliott Coues on 
"Field Ornithology," a work which is full of 
useful information for the naturalist or sports- 
man : " The secret of safe climbing is never to 
relax one hold until another is secured ; it is in 
spirit equally applicable to scrambling over rocks, 
a particularly difficult thing to do safely with a 
loaded gun. Test rotten, slippery, or otherwise 
suspicious holds, before trusting them. In lift- 
ing the body up anywhere, heep the mouth shut^ 
hreathe through the nostrils^ and go slowly. 



'^ In crossing a high, narrow footpath, never 
look lower than your feet ; the muscles will work 
true if not confused with faltering instructions 
from a giddy brain. 

" Take care never to check perspiration ; dur- 
ing this process the body is in a somewhat criti- 
cal condition, and the sudden arrest of the func- 
tion may result disastrously, even fatally. One 
part of the business of perspiration is to equal- 
ize bodily temperature, and it must not be inter- 
fered with. The secret of much that is said 
about bathing when heated lies here. A person 
overheated, panting it may be, with throbbing 
temples and a dry skin, is in danger partly be- 
cause the natural cooling by evaporation from the 
skin is denied ; and this condition is sometimes 
not far from a sunstroke. Under these circum- 
stances, a person of fairly good constitution may 
plunge into the water with impunity, even with 
benefit. But, if the body be already cooling by 
sweating, rapid abstraction of heat from the sur- 
face may cause internal congestion, never unat- 
tended with danger. 

" Drinking ice-water offers a somewhat par- 
allel case ; even on stopping to drink at the brook, 
when flushed with heat, it is well to bathe the 
face and hands first, and to taste the water be- 
fore a full draught." 



SUMMER PICTURES. 



ALL along our far-stretching shores, in the 
shady places by the banks of our streams, 
on the rocks that abut from the hillsides, in 
the cool depths of our woods, on the surface of 
our countless lakes, there are in the soft, summer 
days many idyllic pictures — lovers dreaming as 
they watch the sky and listen to the murmur of 
the sea ; happy children playing on the sand, 
and letting tiny waves ripple over their white 
feet; maidens musing in hammocks, and catch- 
ing on their cheeks the fresh breezes that deep- 
on the roses there ; merry groups in mountain- 
places and on the shore picnicking, with quip 
and jest and hearty laughter ; the white sails of 
boats with damsels at the helm ; wandering fair 
ones who gather flowers by the brooks or in the 
meadows; artists beneath their white umbrellas 
studying the contours of the hills ; groups of 
men and women tumbling gayly in the surf — 
these and endless other scenes hourly enact 
themselves in the wide spaces of our land. It 
is a holiday-time, and holiday-making goes on in 
a thousand different forms, by sea and forest, on 
plain and hill, wherever men and women con- 
sent to put off care and surrender themselves to 
the sweet aspects of Nature. It was at one time 



commonly said that Americans had very little 
talent for out-of-door enjoyment. This allega- 
tion may have possessed once some small meas- 
ure of truth, but now it is essentially false, for 
every summer the whole community nearly goes 
to the seashore or the mountains, and lives with 
vast delight in the open air. The seacoast from 
the upper part of Maine to North Carolina is 
fairly lined with pleasure-seekers, and all the 
mountains, all the wooded valleys, all the rivers 
and lakes are fairly alive with multitudes bent 
upon enjoying out-of-doors. During July and 
August at least we are a nation of holiday- 
makers. 

Our artists have limned a few of the capti- 
vating pictures that grace the pleasant places of 
the land. What a serene and charming sea- 
shore group is this that Darley has depicted for 
us! A young girl and two children have come 
down to a sweet, quiet nook on the shore, with 
their pets and playthings, to enjoy the air and 
the water ; to rest a little, romp a little, and 
paddle in the warm, pleasant flood. Many times 
the scene will come back in wearisome winter 
school-hours to the imaginations of the little 
ones, and they will pant for the returning sum- 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 







mer that is to restore to them such free and 
happy hours. 

"The artist in the country" is nowadays a 
common scene in many sections. From the 
first swelling of spring buds, through all the 
changing periods of Nature's panorama, until 
dark November is reached, there is no time that 
the painter does not seek for new aspects of Na- 
ture for his sketch-book, or can not find it profit- 
able to plant his camp-stool, erect his umbrella, 



set up his easel, and surrender himself to the 
study and the reproduction of hazy skies, or wav- 
ing foliage, or far-ofi", mellowing hill-tops. As to 
the painter's companion in the sketch, we must 
let our readers frame M'hat romance pertaining 
to her they may please. A love-story could 
easily be woven out of the situation. 

But numerous are the love-dramas enacted 
under our summer suns! Are these lovers that 
we see seated beneath this huge cedar-tree ? Is. 



SUMMER PICTURES. 



89 



the happy fellow reading aloud dulcet verses to 
his fair listener? One feels the air fresh from 
the far expanse of the sea ; he hears the gentle 
zephyrs murmur in the gnarled branches of the 
tree; he breathes the soft, aromatic air, and the 
gentle murmur of the waves and the leaves. 
The reader's voice rises and falls with the tender 
cadence of the poet's lines. In this picture the 
cedar-tree must divide our interest with the liv- 
ing group. It is a portrait of a famous cedar at 
Cape Ann, Massachusetts. Along the wild and 
broken coast of New England the native vege- 
tations of our forest struggle for a place. Occa- 
sionally the seeds of the cedar will fall upon some 
ocean-washed rock. " The feeble plant will for 
lorig years scarcely lift its head above the sur- 
rounding level, and then only to find itself 
shadowed by precipices that rise into the very 
clouds. Throwing out its delicate suckers, it 
clings to its native barrenness, even more closely 
for its poverty. The searching winds of a thou- 



sand storms straighten its tendrils; the impacted 
snows of each returning winter scarcely disap- 
pear before the summer's heat, ere our cedar is 
again bound in an icy tomb. But silently, stead- 
ily, perseveringly it grows. In time it reaches 
its head into the noonday sunshine, and its sappy 
trunk is chafed and gnarled by the ever-recur- 
ring hurricane. Sometimes, when the great 
pines in the perturbed depths of the mountains 
groan and fall under the hurricane, our cedar 
clings to its native rock, though lashed as a 
whip-cord, but still intact. A limb occasionally 
falls from the effects of these persecutions of the 
elements, or it is stripped of its feather - like 
foliage, but the tree struggles on, growing more 
majestic, more grand, and more as if possessed 
of a mental history ; for there is something sug- 
gestive of humanity in its scarred and wrinkled 
front. On the coast of Cape Ann, under the re- 
sults of having a comparatively flat surface for 
display, is a memorable specimen of one of these 




An Artist in the Country. 



i 



90 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




Under the Cedar-Tree. 



' storm-kings ' of the vegetable world. It has ' The most superficial observer of the grand works 
drawn its substance from the flinty gravel and j of Nature insensibly stops and regards this tree, 
adamantine rock, and its great, gnarled trunk i while the true artist beholds it as an inspirator, 
looks as if it were made of ligatures of brass. 1 It is a noble and natural monument of the weird 



SUMMER PICTURES. 



91 



waste it adorns, and a sentinel for observation 
on the rock-bound coast of New England." 

Our next illustration is an inland scene— a 
pond shadowed by forest-trees, and a fair tlower- 
gatherer by its side. These summer rambles 
into shaded places, searching for wild flowers 
and ferns, are among the most agreeable of our 
vacation experiences. Our rambler in this in- 
stance is alone, communing sweetly, no doubt, 
with her own thoughts. We may suppose her 
dreaming of an absent one, or thinking only of 



her flowers, in "maiden meditation fancy free." 
A poet has asked the question in this wise : 

FANCY FREE. 

Wealth of starry bloom ; 

Sun, and leafy gloom ; 
Whispers of the glossy stream ; 

Is she lured by these, 

Or the melodies 
Wandering in her waking dream ? 



9 .5. ■- ^ ^ jj, ~ 




Fancy Free. 



i 



92 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




A Picnic at the Isles of Shoals. 



Blissful melodies ! 
Lily argosies 
Rise and fall in checkered light ; 



They but mirror there 
Fancies quaint and fair 
Flor.ting in her vision bright ! 



SUMMER PICTURES. 



93 



Is it love ? Ah, well, 

Who is there to tell '? 
Oh, the dream that's dearest vet ! 

Does it come to bless — 

Is it sought unless 
With it falls a sweet regret ? 

. Hands will meet her own. 
Lips in loving tone 
Woo her soon to low replies ! 



Will it — will it be 
Where the birds may see 
All the story in those eyes ? 

Ever may her hand 

Cull as fair a band : 
Queen of all the dewy dell ! 

Will a lover fair 

Keep with tender care 
One sweet flower— her heart as well ? 




94 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



Oh, the hours arc brief! 

Bird and falling leaf 
Soon will tell the glory past ; 

Dreams will never stay. 

Live, then, while we may : 
Sunny days will never last ! 

In the picture that follows we have a scene full 
of agreeable associations, for who has not pic- 
nicked on the rocks by the sea, and found an in- 
describable delight in the adventure? This pic- 
nic-party is gathered on the rocks of Star Island, 
one of the islands of the " Isles of Shoals," of 
late years a much-sought summer resort. The 
Isles of Shoals lie some ten miles beyond the 
splendid harbor of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 
in the broad, open sea, directly opposite the 
State line which divides New Hampshire from 
Maine. They consist of eight islets or rocks, 
the largest of which, Appledore, contains three 
hundred and fifty acres, and here there is a capi- 
tal hotel. Near Appledore is Smutty Nose or 
Haley's Island, low, flat, and dangerous, on whose 
reefs many a luckless vessel bas been dashed to 
pieces. A quarter of a mile distant is Star 
Island, the scene of our picnic. " Here sturdy 
New England fishermen, more than a century 
and a half ago, made their homes, built them- 
selves houses of the wrecks of vessels, created a 
village, made it attractive by the spire of a mini- 
ature church, and named this little marine prod- 
igy after the ancient English town of Gosport, 
where for centuries has been a ferry that crosses 
to Plymouth in Hampshire. The inhabitants of 
the Isles of Shoals depend upon the ever-abun- 
dant treasures of the sea for subsistence ; they 
are expert fishermen, and are alike at home 
when pursuing the herring or the whale. For 
vegetables and fresh meats they rely upon the 
mainland, exchanging their fish for such-named 
necessaries of life. Sometimes the Isles of Shoals 
will be for days enveloped in deep fogs, and the 
inhabitants seem to be as comfortable under the 
infliction as do the fish in the surrounding sea. 
But it is not always desolate and stormy in these 
bleak regions. In the midsummer, the restless 
Atlantic even will have days of repose. Then 
it is that the bright sun pours down its uninter- 
rupted rays upon the islands, making them in 
the distance look like amethysts and garnets set 
as mosaics in glistening emerald." 

But, after all, is there a more delightful sum- 
mer experience than floating on gentle waters 
with some fair companion ? This is an incident 
that artists have always delighted to sketch, and 
so we may believe that it is a picture that other 
people delight to look upon. There is a sense 
of romance and of poetry in scenes of this kind ; 



and, if lovers are ever to love, it must be when 
they are together in a boat, whether gliding 
under spreading branches, flecked with radiant 
spots of sunlight, or floating over placid open 
waters, bathed in the rich glow of the " cir- 
cumambient air." A poet writes : 

" All in the gay and golden weather, 
Two fair travelers, maid and man, 
Sailed in a birchen boat together. 

And sailed the way the river ran. 
The sun was low, not set, and the west 
Was colored like a robin's breast. 

And they were lovers, and well content, 
Sailing the way the river went." 

Many of us could be content to " sail the way 
the river went " — to float along through rocky 
glens, by grassy banks, under shadowy arcades, 
between sunny meadows, listening to the ripple 
of the current, and dreaming of a life full of 
sweetness, like the stream we float upon. 



THE SKIES. 

IN the old days, when fancy wrought 
Bright fables of the stars and skies; 
When men like children dreamed and thought, 
And wore the raiments of the wise ; 

When heaven was all a golden space 

Hung in the abysm of the air — 
A wide and lordly dwelling-place 

Which gods had grandly fashioned there — 

No light, of all the lights that flowed 

From worlds that circled through the night 

In countless myriads, dimly glowed 
Upon men's blind and barren sight. 

But now, when lifting up our gaze 
To the blue heavens, our eyes behold 

The omnipotence of a God whose ways 
Are strange, and vast, and manifold — 

We know — for we are wise indeed — 

That all around us vaguely lies 
The infinite spirit of our creed. 

The ethereal beauty of the skies; 

And that our world is but a star 
Amid the perfect stars that gleam 

Like hopes of sweeter life afiir. 
Faint as the substance of a dream. 

Gkobge Edgak Montgomeby. 



CAMPING OUT." 



95 



"CAMPING OUT." 



By R. R. Bowker. 



THERE is a something about "camping out" 
that can't be carried on tlie point of a pen. 
I suppose it is the getting down to first principles 
— shaking hands with Nature, as it were. No- 
body can describe how Joe or Jeannette shakes 
hands : there are an honesty and heartiness in 
the grip that win you and make you feel more of 
a man, and give you a better idea of the world 
at large, a firm conviction that life is worth liv- 
ing — and that is all you can say. Other people 
shake hands with a limpness and flabbiness that 
take all the starch out of you. There is the same 
difference between living out-of-doors and living 
in a house, not least if the house has all manner 
of bric-d-brac in it and the people all wear their 
best clothes to dinner. It is comfortable to get 
down to first principles once in a while, and find 
out what a comfort it is not to have comforts. 

I know one set of city men to whom the first 
of January is only a dividing-line between camps. 
Up to that time their talk, when they are them- 
selves, is all of the last camp ; and after that it is 
all of the next one. Incidentally, they prate in 
courts of law, or cure or kill, or help to make 
newspapers, or practice other means of getting a 
living, and they date their letters by the Julian 
calendar ; but the chief object in life is to get to 
camp. It is as near as we can come, I suppose, 
to the garden of Eden, and perhaps that accounts 
for it. Adam and Eve were always sorry they 
ever broke camp — and the whole race after them. 

It is one of the mysteries that, while it is so 
difficult to tell other people just what the delights 
of camping are, the camp-fever is nevertheless so 
infectious. They will ask you all sorts of imper- 
tinent questions that you can't answer — what the 
fun is of staying out all night in the cold ? why 
you like sharp twigs under your tired back in- 
stead of spring-mattresses? what you do all day? 
— when for the life of you you can't tell. And 
yet the most satiric of the scoffers will be found 
the next year eager to become martyrs them- 
selves, and making anxious inquiries as to all the 
thousand-and-one details of how not to do it. 

There is a first time to everything, and the in- 
experienced camper must expect to gain a realiz- 
ing sense of " ad castra, per aspera " (or " per cas- 
tra," as it is also written), in his early attempts. 
" Through camps — and pretty rough camps — to 
the stars,'' is the plain English of it. Particular- 
ly if he is to do his own cooking, and has never 
been tied to his mother's apron-strings when she 
went into the kitchen. I know one man who 
never will forget the strong conviction that there 



was something in civilization, after all, which 
came upon him when he tasted the dreadful 
mouthful of clear starch that resulted from his 
first attempt to make a corn-starch pudding. 
And who of the early days of "Camp Manhat- 
tan" will forget the direful day when the whole 
camp took turns, for unnumbered hours, picking 
off" by hand the pin-feathers of the two chickens 
that, after all, had to be boiled and skinned, be- 
cause no one had the sense to remember that in 
the ordinary methods of civilization it is done in 
a jiffy with a bit of flaming paper? But such 
tribulations as these, and even the drenching and 
dreary storms that so dampen the ardor of the 
inexperienced camper, are not suflicient to deter 
him, if there is any " gumption " in him, from 
wanting to try it again, and ever again. 

Mr. Stockton's famous camping-party, in 
" Rudder Grange," proposed to camp out in their 
own back-yard, and did settle down a few rods off, 
resolutely refusing to take shelter under their own 
dry roof even when the floods came and the milk- 
boy didn't. Others cherish the superstition that 
they can not properly camp out except some hun- 
dreds of miles away from home and amid dense 
wilderness. The earth is wide, and happily there 
are a number of good camping-places upon it, not 
so very far away from one's own home, wherever 
that home may happen to be. At some of the 
beaches of the New England coast there is a 
growing fashion of "camping out" in shanties 
which may be hired for the purpose ready-fur- 
nished with the few necessary articles. There 
are like summer settlements on the Great Lakes, 
and the great camp-meetings are now so many 
that almost every one has heard of the life in these 
improvised yet permanent summering-places that 
gather nominally, at least, around the preaching- 
platform. All this, however, is only half-way 
camping out. You don't quite get the flavor of 
the real thing until you give up the house alto- 
gether, and live with only the thickness of can- 
vas between you and the stars. 

There is no reason why this should not be 
done near home, except the unaccustomedness of 
it. I mean for people who can not get to the 
Adirondacks, or the White Mountains (now al- 
most too much a tlioroughfare for camping), or 
the seashore, or the borders of the Great Lakes, 
or Leadville. In the very midst of the denseness 
of the virgin forest, or within ear-shot of the 
sounding sea, is, of course, the ideal place for 
camping ; but to reach these places costs often 
more time and more railroad-fare than most peo- 



96 



APPLETONS' SUMMEE BOOK. 



pie can aflford. And, while change of air and 
change of scenery are of great good and delight, 
the mere change of life from in-doors to out-doors 
and change of daily routine are what many people 
want most. There are in many parts of the coun- 
try pretty little lakes, with pleasant groves upon 



their shores, sutSciently isolated yet sufficiently 
convenient to a base of supplies, that would de- 
light the eye of the camper if a few Imndred miles 
away from home, but are quite snubbed by peo- 
ple near by who are " dying " to camp out at any 
place quite out of their reach. I know of very 




The Camp. 



pleasant camps founded under just such circum- 
stances. 

Those who can have what they want will, of 
course, take the money and the time, and do that 
best thing of changing their whole environment. 
In general it is, doubtless, best for coast people 



to seek the mountains, and for inland people to 
seek the sea ; but this question can only be fully 
solved on individual grounds and by individual 
experience. The chief care should be to avoid 
absolutely malarial places, which is not so easy 
nowadays in this country, since the great wave of 



CAMPING OUT." 



97 



this mysterious infliction has been pushing its 
front even across and up the Connecticut Valley. 
Damp ground, or any in the neighborhood of 
swamps, should especially be shunned. Water 
and woods are among the first requisites for a 
fully enjoyable camp, though the seashore or the 
forest, either by itself, is not to be despised. But 
the camp should not be hidden among the trees 
so that the sunshine and the free winds can not 
get to it; ratlier in the open, where it may bask 
in the sun all the morning and have the wel- 
come shade in the hotter afternoon. It should 
not be in clayey soil, but where there is good 
drainage through the earth, and on slightly slop- 
ing ground, that there may be surface drainage as 
well. To prevent this through the tent, which 
is not delectable, a shallow trench is often use- 
fully dug around the outside of the tent or shel- 
ter. This must itself drain down the slope. On 
sloping ground heads must be always up the hill 
in " turning in." Next to a good base a good out- 
look is an important thing for real enjoyment, 
and should be had in mind in pitching a tent. 

The tent is on the whole the most satisfactory 
camp. The board-shanty is but a poor apology 
for an orthodox house; a tent is a difterent thing 
altogether. The permanent "camps" that are 
found along the Adirondack trails, sometimes 
individual property, but more often dedicated to 
the service of whosoever may happen along, are 
commonly rude log-houses, with no door, and with 
a square aperture at top for chimney ; or else the 
" hunter's shelter " of a mere roof made of poles, 
covered with bark or boughs, closed at the back, 
where the poles are ingeniously pitched on stakes, 
and opened to the weather at the higher front. 
I have myself slept comfortably, during a wet 
night, in a camp improvised hastily, wigwam- 
fashion, in an hour or two, by stacking up hastily- 
cut poles half around a big tree, and covering 
them with boughs, the trees being so wet that 
no bark could be peeled off to make a bark shel- 
ter. Indeed, I have slept comfortably under the 
stars, with a great trench dug along our feet and 
filled with fire, keeping us warm to the top of 
our heads. But a tent is on the whole the best, 
and often the warmest, and the best tent is what 
is called the wall-tent. This, like the A tent, is 
raised on two perpendicular poles supporting a 
ridge-pole, but the roof, sloping on either side, 
instead of reaching the ground, stops short about 
four feet above, where it meets perpendicular 
walls of canvas^ which may be fastened down by 
loops fitting upon stakes, or by rolling stones upon 
the edges. In bright weather, or to air the tent 
of a morning, these walls are rolled up and tied 
to the edge of the canvas roof, which is made fast 
by guy-ropes, that must invariably be loosened out 
when the rain begins to draw them up, and which 
7 



should not be used for clothes-lines. The last 
should be hung from tree to tree within reason- 
able distance of the tent, not at the points of view, 
which must be dedicated to the hammocks, where- 
in the sweet idleness of camp-life has its apothe- 
osis. A " fly," or second great sheet of canvas, 
thrown over the ridge-pole and guyed so as to be 
a little higher at the edges than the roof of the 
tent, is an exceedingly useful thing to keep out 
rain, whether from a leaky or a dripping tent, 
either of which is sufiicient botheration. The 
tents oftenest used in camp are the " shelter- 
tents" of the army, strips of canvas with buttons 
or buttonholes at the respective edges, of which 
each of the party carries one, and which can be 
buttoned together to make tents of various shape 
and size, or to make flies. These are commonly 
used for peripatetic camps. 

Since we are talking about the tent and its 
immediate surroundings, we may as well step 
down to the kitchen, which may be a gypsy fire 
under a stack of three sticks supporting the in- 
evitable kettle and taking the inevitable frying- 
pan to its bosom of flame ; but much better, an 
old stove-top, if civilization be sufiiciently near 
to permit, resting on built-up stones. Too breezy 
a spot won't do. For the other extreme, an apolo- 
gy for a refrigerator, a hole in the ground covered 
with a board serves well, provided the wild or 
tame beasts are not allowed to get at it. For 
dining-room find the loveliest spot about camp, 
within easy range of the kitchen, that the inner 
man and the outer man may be satisfied together. 
The after-dinner hours are often the height of 
enjoyment of the day. Many of these arrange- 
ments depend, of course, upon whether the camp 
is large or small : in the first case, a cook is abso- 
lutely desirable, unless, as in the Adirondacks, 
there are guides who take that as part of their 
work. 

But, after all and before all, the first prerequi- 
site of the right kind of a camp is to have the 
right kind of people in it. There is no better 
trial of friendship than the close test of camp- 
life, and woe be to that party which has despised 
this fundamental rule! One bore, or one Miss 
Nancy, or one weakling, will easily spoil the plea- 
sure of an entire camp. You want people who 
will not pout on rainy days or over a week of 
rain ; who will not be afraid of spoiling their 
clothes or die of dampening their feet ; who will 
not talk all the time, but sometimes ; who will do 
their share of work as well as of play ; who will 
not fume over bad dinners or no dinner at all ; in 
a word, people who are cheerful and cheery, and 
who go knowing that even the rainbow has tears 
in it. As to number, it is well to reckon by 
twos, and to remember that a large company is 
not easy to provide for, at indefinite distances 



98 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



from grocery-stores, unless you are sure of a base 
of supplies. Four or six is the best number for 
experiment. If you have both ladies and gentle- 
men, a large camp is usual and agreeable, and 
ladies are a blessing in camp if they are the kind 
who take to it kindly. It requires a large tent, 
however, to afford room for a canvas center-wall, 
and two tents are by all means better. If the 
ladies are afraid to stay by themselves in a house 
of their own, they are of the sort who will do 
better to stay at home altogether. But it is a 
comfort to have them about camp, and not only 
because they know better than most men how to 
wash the dishes! A friend of camping expe- 
rience, nevertheless, insists that it is well, once in 
a year, to break away from all such social ties, 
and get a company of clean-spoken men together 
by themselves, for the sake of the entire change. 
The incompleteness of man without woman is then 
the more fully appreciated when one gets back 
again. There is philosophy in this ; but, then, the 
ladies can scarcely revel in a similar exclusiveness, 
and it's a poor rule that don't work both ways. 

In getting up the personal outfit for camp-life 
there is apt to be more danger, with greenhorns, 
of takmg too much rather than too little — I mean 
not of a dram, but of dress. The particular mis- 
take most people make, however, especially in 
going north in summer, is in taking thin instead 
of thick garments. Nights are cool, and apt to 
be cold, in the northern woods or by the lakes. 
A change of not too thin woolen underclothing 
is the first sine qua non; then a pair of laced 
boots that fit (too large are quite as bad as too 
small), and a pair of slippers for a change and to 
sleep in, which may seem an absurdity, but is a 
very practical comfort. A change of flannel negli- 
gee shirts, loose-necked and long ; one coat that 
will serve as an overcoat; pantaloons that nei- 
ther tear easily nor catch burrs and dirt — blue 
jeans is capital material, though not handsome 
nor very warm ; woolen stockings, and a hat that 
shades the eyes, are the other necessaries for the 
outer man. In a tramp the pantaloons should be 
tied about the ankles, not too tightly. Ladies 
are best off with simple mountain-dresses, short- 
skirted, of dark flannel or waterproof. It is a 
practical suggestion, worth noting, that pockets 
in camp-apparel should always be arranged to 
button up, because things do "spill 'round" 
dreadfully in camp. Thread and needles are 
items that masculines can not afford to forget. 
For these things and toilet articles the light roll- 
ing toilet-cases are very convenient, because they 
serve as a memorandum in keeping your things 
together, and can be tied up at the side of the 
tent over your sleeping-place. A stout jack-knife, 
a water-tight match-safe, and a compass, are 
absolutely indispensable. Writing-material and 



postage-stamps are " a great nuisance when you 
don't have them " ; and a guide-book and the 
best map that can be had should be somewhere 
among the party. Don't forget towels and soap, 
which are individual rather than camp proper- 
ties, but apt to be overlooked because of the 
doubt. In a capital little book, called "How to 
Camp Out," by John M. Gould, an old army-man 
and an experienced camper, is a check-list of all 
the things you are likely to want, and a great 
many more than you ought to want, that it will 
be useful to run .over. Guns and ammunition, 
and rods and flies, must depend on the locality in 
which the hunting or fishing is to be done. 

A light rubber blanket is needed ; those, called 
j)onchos, with an immense buttonhole, so to speak, 
in the middle, to put your head through, serve as 
bed by night and overcoat by day. A pair of 
light-weight army-blankets (the two woven con- 
tinuously, so as to fold at your feet), costing from 
three to five dollars, complete the bed. In a per- 
manent camp some take a ticking-sack, which 
they may fill with straw or leaves, but most will 
prefer the fragrant mattress of hemlock-leaves, 
although it is abominable work picking enough 
of them. All this " kit," for a movable camp, 
should not count up to so much as twenty pounds, 
which is a sore load for most travelers. They can 
be made up into a pack in tlie rubber blanket, 
fastened' with carrying-straps, which should be 
broad at the bearings on the shoulders; or into a 
long roll, similarly wrapped, and tied into a ring, 
to be carried first over one shoulder and then over 
the other ; or packed in a knapsack, of which 
those of light waterproof cloth, such as are made 
in London for the Alpine Club, are the best. 

For cooking utensils, a frying-pan, coftee-pot, 
water-pail, hatchet, large knife, and knife, fork, 
spoon, plate, and cup for each person, are ne- 
cessaries. There are beautiful camp-kettle af- 
fairs that combine everything you can possibly 
want, in no space at all, but in these cases all is 
not gold that glitters. Particularly in a movable 
camp, they are of more bother than the primitive 
articles, which can be distributed among the 
various members of the party. As to provisions, 
it is difficult indeed to give general advice ; it 
depends on the country. An Adirondack guide 
commonly contents himself witli salt pork, corn- 
meal, coffee, a little tea, ])otatoes, salt and pep- 
per, in addition to his gun and rod. Self-raising 
flour, crackers, and canned goods, especially 
soups and vegetables, come handy in a perma- 
nent camp; for it must not be forgotten that 
fresh vegetables are not procurable north until 
late in the season. Such things can most eco- 
nomically be bought in the large cities before 
starting, and freighted up as far as possible. 
Lemons are a great desideratum in camp. But 



ALONE BY THE SEA. 



99 



" everything depends." If the cainp is to be per- 
manent and not far from roads, much more can 
be carried ; a servant is then desirable, at once 
for the care of these things, to cook, and to keep 
camp. With small parties, moving about, a ser- 
vant is less desirable. The Dartmouth College 
boys had a way of camping about the White 
Hills peripatetically, hiring a wagon for their 
camp-luggage, and buying an old horse at the 
beginning, which they could sell at not much 
loss at the end. Such a plan limits you, but 
saves much hard work. In the Adirondacks, 
the journeying is mostly by water; but, when 
you do come to the "carry," it is a great bother 
to have so much luggage that the guide, after 
walking off like a great beetle with the boat on 
his head and part of the " kit " underneath on his 
shoulders, must go back for a second load. 

Enjoyable and healthful camping should be 
leisurely — not an attempt to do ever so much or 
make ever so many miles a day. The laziness of 
it is a great boon. Yet there must also be exer- 
cise. In walking, a dozen to twenty miles a day 
is enough for any one, and it should be done 
inorning and evening, before eleven and after 
four. It is a good plan to laze one day and 
"do" the next, alternately. To one who man- 
ages wisely, camp-days become thus the most 
enjoyable in life. 

Camp recreations are more varied than stay- 
at-homes suppose. One warning must be given : 
Don't permit any misguided four to form a whist 
" series " — from that hour they are lost to the 
camp. Even rainy days may be made bright in 
camp. A favorite amusement of one camp I 
know of was the comb-orchestra dish-pan-onion 
combination, which did the "Tannhauser" over- 
ture in a way that would have taught Herr Wag- 
ner something in the way of effect a little be- 
yond him. Another Adirondack camp published 
a newspaper in MS.; "The Fly-Sheet," I think, 
was its name. It was for the benefit of this 
rural journal that a tournament of verse was 
held, which would have done credit to the Min- 
nesingers themselves. Here is the contribution 
of one member of that camp, a New York pub- 
lisher, who prints other people's poetry and not 
his own, to the competition for a rhyme with 
" venison " : 

" 'Tis sweet by woodland lake to rest, 

Enjoying Nature's bcnison, 
Mayhap a book to lend a zest, 

Some pastoral of Tennyson, 
And some fair maid whose faithful breast 

'Tis safe to bet one's pennies on. 
So placed, one tastes the joys of life, 

And need not envy any son 
Of man who midst the toil and strife 

Of cities rests a denizen. 



" And though those halcyon days are past, 

And now we mourn the many sun- 
— Dered ties with friends that might not last, 

And joys we've had in plenison, 
We still can keep our courage stout, 

Throw off dull care, if aiiy^s on. 
Renew our dreams of lusty trout. 

And feast off boughten venison." 

Ah, the delight it gives an old camper to look 
back upon the days that are gone, and to dream 
of the days that are coming! I remember a 
first time — the hap hazard start for Lake George 
in general and nowhere in particular ; the land- 
ing just where the good-natured captain of the 
little steamer chose to put us off; the delightful 
novelty of that first life in the open air, the not 
delightful novelty of our own cooking ; the jolly 
time it proved to be when all was over ! I re- 
member how, year after year, we pitched our 
tent in the same spot, with the very same rocks 
under our backs, and every rock dear to us! I 
remember the forced camp on old Black Moun- 
tain, when, coatless and supperless under the 
frosty stars, we lay spoon-fashion to keep warm, 
with the long trench of fire blazing at our feet! 
I remember the Berkshire and the White Hills 
tramps — the long pulls in the fresh morning, the 
splendid mountain-tops at night, the pine forests 
and the moonlight, the figures trudging along in 
the shadow and in the silence, the whiff of odor- 
ous balm, the sense of nature! I remember, 
above all, that lonely night in the midst of the 
Adirondack wilderness, when, caught in the pelt- 
ing rain, we built ourselves a lodge of boughs, 
and set ablaze a hollow tree, till we had so 
grand a sight of pyrotechnics as never city man 
saw on the Fourth of July : the pillar of fire as 
the great tree opened with the heat, beautiful 
with violet and rosy and purple flame, the wet 
leaves shining back like stars, the thunderous 
fall — and silence! Days and nights like these, 
supperless though they might have been, are 
now refreshment that never fails. Indeed, he 
who has not known something of camping has 
not quite found out to the full how well worth 
living is hfe, or what life is ! 



ALONE BY THE SEA. 

From Rtjckert. 

HERE ! where no nightingale's quick melody 
Showereth from bloomy dell, by bub- 
bling spring ; 
Where overhead the sea-gulls wheel and cry. 

And underneath the waves crawl murmuring, 
I couch on bed of spray-dewed rosemary. 

And hear the winds and solemn waters sing, 
A ceaseless song, monotonous, forlorn. 
On which dear distant names are faintly borne. 



100 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



BLAKE'S FERRY 



By James T. McKay. 



IT was a lovely spot. Harlan stood on the 
platform and looked about him as the train 
slid on out of sight. It was near the twilight, 
and very still. Every footfall of the passengers 
trooping down the long plank walk to the ferry 
was distinctly audible. Then the pattering 
ceased; the little ferry-boat steamed out upon 
the placid, darkling river, and he was left alone. 

It seemed but just now that he had left the 
glaring, breathless city, and the contrast made 
the scene doubly grateful. The river-bauk, the 
heights that rose steeply above him, and the more 
gentle slopes across the water were dense with 
foliage and dark with cool shadows. Above the 
crest of the opposite hills hung one gorgeous 
cloud, and its rich light tinged even the shadows 
with a tender radiance not to be described. 

The young stranger stood watching the en- 
chanted picture till the color burned out ; then 
he looked in at the waiting-room and asked to 
be directed to Mr. Stilfleet's. A boy came a lit- 
tle way with him and pointed out a path leading 
toward the river above the ferry, and he walked 
on, loitering slowly. 

Two years before, Ned Harlan had gone one 
night to Marian Stilfleet and told her that his 
firm had offered him the charge of a venture 
that would take hira to South America for a year 
at least. He was excited and in doubt, and it 
was necessary to decide quickly. He could not 
bear to leave her, yet if he went it would be for 
her sake ; the salary would be considerable, and 
the experience and knowledge acquired of value 
to him on his return. But he would do just as 
she said. The decision was hard for both, but 
Marian Stilfleet was not the girl to let any weak- 
ness prevent her advising in the end the course 
that seemed manly and prudent. So they had 
parted sadly but hopefully, without effusive grief, 
or fondness, or protestations of fidelity, but with 
entire confidence and affection for one another. 
And neither faith nor affection had flagged in the 
years of separation. 

Only a short time after Harlan's departure, 
Marian's mother was taken sick and died in the 
fall. Mr. Stilfleet had many years before been 
nearly ruined by a passion for drink, and now in 
his grief the old craving revived, and it seemed 
as if nothing could stop him for a while, until 
some consequent disastrous speculations brought 
him face to face with degradation and want. At 
that juncture his distracted daughter bethought 
her of an old friend of her mother'^, of whom 
tliey had lost sight for a good while. General 



Hilgate, President of the Due North Railroad, 
and she went to see him at the railway-oflSce. 
He was busy in his private room, messengers and 
visitors going in and out, and the President's 
commanding voice coming through the opening 
door to her now and then, as she waited for an 
opportunity to speak alone with him. Her heart 
almost failed before she was shown in, and quite 
sank as she stood for a moment till the stern- 
looking old gentleman should turn and see her. 
But, when he looked up from his desk sharply, 
his face softened, and he exclaimed in a low 
tone : 

" My God ! It's Marian Lincoln ! " 

''Marian Lincoln's daughter," she said softly 
—"Marian StilHeet." 

"Yes, yes," he answered, coming to meet 
her, " of course, of course ! Come and sit down. 
Do you know, you are the picture of your mother 
at your age? I knew your mother when she was 
younger than you." 

He drew her to a chair near his own and sat 
looking at her, still holding her hands. " Dear 
me, dear me!" he soliloquized. "And this is 
Marian's daughter. I knew she had a little girl, 
but I never tliought of her but as a baby. I 
don't know how I had forgotten so ; I haven't 
seen Marian Lincoln for years and years. Is she 
well now — your mother, is she well? " 

Marian shrank, and her lips trembled. Her 
eyes filled and fell, but, after a little, she lifted 
them and answered, in an unsteady voice : 

" Didn't you know ? My mother is dead." 

" Dead ! Oh, that's too bad ! " 

He got up and turned away, with his head 
bent and his thumbs in his side pockets. A clerk 
who looked in met his frowning face and sharp 
order to shut the door and not to open it till he 
was called. How strange that, at that time of 
day, with grown sons and daughters of his own, 
and his head gray, that forgotten wound should 
open and rankle afresh at sight of Marian's child ! 
The thought of her death pierced him with a 
pang so keen that the perception of it infected 
Marian, and caused her to shake and sob quickly 
in spite of herself. Seeing that, the old man 
came and patted her cheek, and bade her not to 
cry. He sat down again and talked to her, tell- 
ing her of her mother in her young days, and 
asking her questions about these later years. 
And Marian dried her eyes and cleared her 
choked voice, and told him of the strait she and 
her father were in, encouraged by his unwonted 
gentleness to be quite frank with him. 



BLAKE'S FERRY. 



101 



" I thought," she concluded, " if my father 
could get some situation that would employ his 
time and thoughts, and especially if it were away 
from his present associations, it might be the 
best thing for us that the money is lost." 

The general pulled the bell and ordered the 
attendant to look for Mr. Hilgate, and ask him 
to come in. In a few minutes a young man en- 
tered, a handsome, athletic, slow-moving fellow, 
with an air of reserve and command. 

" Tom," said the General, turning in his arm- 
chair, " who is superintendent of the ferry at 
Blake's now ? Can we do anything else with 
the man ? I want the place." 

" His name is Wbitelaw," the young man an- 
swered ; " we can put him somewhere, I sup- 
pose." 

"It's just the place you want," the general 
said, turning back to Marian. " Let me intro- 
duce you to my son." Then to that gentleman : 
" Tom, you will see Miss Stillieet's father and 
arrange the matter. Give them any help they 
need, and make it comfortable for them. If it 
costs you anything in time or money, let me 
know." 

He showed Marian out to the street-door, 
and parted from her with great kindness, bidding 
her always to come to him when she needed ad- 
vice or assistance ; and Marian could only express 
brokenly the gratitude she felt. 

In a fortnight from that time they were in- 
stalled in a very pleasant cottage at the ferry, 
the father occupied with his duties at the land- 
ing, or at his accounts in the little room over- 
looking the river, which they had made into an 
office, and the daughter busy with her house- 
keeping, and happy as the birds among the trees 
by the river-side, which she enjoyed as much as 
they. There were only two or three houses, a 
store, and the station at the ferry, and the near- 
est town or tavern was a mile from the landing 
across the river ; so that there was no immediate 
temptation to undermine the man's determined 
effort, and, though it was a hard tight enough, 
he persevered, and Marian did all that watchful 
love and care could do to cheer him on. 

Under tlie cii'cumstances, to induce*Mr. Stil- 
fleet to undertake the office, and then to estab- 
lish liim at the ferry, had been no simple affair, 
and Marian recognized thankfully how greatly 
she was indebted to young Mr. Hilgate's respect- 
ful persistence and kindness. The General had a 
summer place on the river, half a mile above the 
ferry, and his son continued to drop in upon 
Mr. Stilfleet, by day or evening, as long as he 
could be of any use in explaining the system of 
checks and settlements between the ferry com- 
pany and the railroad ; and, by the time that ne- 
cessity was passed, he had earned a friendly 



footing in the cottage that he showed no dispo- 
sition to abandon, and which the father and 
daughter were far from grudging him. There 
was never any special familiarity between him 
and Marian : though polite and gentlemanly, 
Hilgate was naturally reserved and somewhat 
taciturn, and Marian, while quite conscious that 
his thoughtfulness and constant attention had 
been of great service to her father and herself, 
and grateful to him personally, still could not 
forget that it wa!s through his father's orders and 
as his agent that the son had undertaken to assist 
them, and that idea kept her from feeling any 
peculiar obligation toward the son, or dreaming 
of any troublesome complication. A tacit friend- 
liness and confidence grew up insensibly between 
them. lie came often, and was always respect- 
ful and unofficiously serviceable, the extremely 
considerate representative of the company which 
her father served ; and Marian found these good 
and sufficient reasons for liking to have him 
come, and was glad to see him, and looked and 
said it sometimes in her modest, candid way. 

And in time Hilgate came to find her looking 
and saying that the pleasantest thing in his world ; 
to see and hear it far away among thronging peo- 
ple and thundering trains, and to hanker for the 
repetition of that sight and sound. He enjoyed 
his position in the cottage too much, and had too 
much self-control, to be in haste. From a mere 
boy he had been accustomed to command men, 
at first in the army and then on the railroad ; he 
had been always exercising authority under his 
father, the General, and had acquired as an in- 
stinct both the determination and assurance of 
success, and the intuitive perception that there 
are times when calm persistence is better than 
promptness and decision. The very habit of 
mastery that made him quick and unswerving as 
lightning when the decisive moment came, made 
him quiet and reticent at other times, and wary 
of taking a risk against too great odds. There 
were no young men in the neighborhood of whom 
he felt any fear, and his watchful eye assured him 
that none of the Stilfleets' few visitors were be- 
fore him in the race. So he took his time, not 
doubting of the end, and finding the way so pleas- 
ant that he was quite content with loitering. 
The winter came, and he moved his quarters into 
town, with the family, but he did not come the 
less to the ferry. Spring followed speedily, and 
now again it was summer. 

Only the evening before this of Harlan's 
arrival, as Hilgate and Mr. Stilfleet sat smoking 
together on the piazza of the cottage, looking 
out upon the river and inhaling the tropical fra- 
grance of the honeysuckles, the elder gentleman 
had asked the younger if he could find out for 
them on the morrow when the steamer Chimbo- 



102 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



razo wa8 expected to arrive; and, in answer to 
Hilgate's glance of inquiry, had explained briefly 
that they were looking for a young friend by 
her from a two years' absence, and hinted very 
plainly that he would some day be more than a 
friend to him and Marian. Hilgate made no 
comment, and showed no mark of surprise or dis- 
pleasure, but there were an increased taciturnity 
and an earlier departure than usual. But to say 
that he was surprised and displeased would be 
a very mild way of expressing the fact. 

As he opened the paper on his way to town 
in the morning, his eye fell on the shipping 
news, and glancing down he saw the Chimborazo 
among the arrivals. He read no more ; but, after 
thinking darkly awhile, got out at a station and 
telegraphed, "Chimborazo in the lower bay last 
night. Be up to-day." 

The Stilfleets were at breakfast when the 
message came. Marian's father saw the eager 
flutter it put her in, and an unexpected yearning 
toward Harlan came over himself. The young 
fellow seemed suddenly a part of his lost, happy 
past coming back to him. 

" Marian," he said, " I ought to go to town 
about that mortgage business soon ; suppose we 
go to-day and meet Ned? " 

And Marian assented joyfully. 

Arriving in the city, Mr. Stilfleet stopped to 
ask Hilgate to give an eye to the ferry, and left 
the cottage key to let him into the office. They 
sent a message for Harlan, to his sister Jessie's, 
to inform him of their whereabouts ; but, toward 
evening, were vexed to receive answer that he 
had only run in and started directly for the ferry 
before their note was received. Mr, Stilfleet 
could not leave his unfinished business for another 
day, so they were obliged to make the best of it. 

Meanwhile Harlan arrived at the ferry as we 
have seen, and sauntered along the path from 
the station toward the Stilfleet cottage, as the 
shadows deepened and the dusk drew on. 

For months past the thought of thus coming 
back to Marian had been with him, or very near 
him, by night and by day. She had described 
the ferry in lier letters, and he had thought of 
her there till he fancied he knew it well. His 
eagerness for this day had increased insensibly 
till it became a pa«sion ; many a time he had 
thought how he should leap from the car and 
hurry along the path and s|)ring on the cottage 
porch. She would not know just when to ex- 
pect him, but would know his tread and come 
quickly ; he could see her glad flush and smile, 
and hear himself laugh aloud as he caught her and 
held her fast. So he had thought and dreamed. 
And now the time had come ; and, as the starv- 
ing castaway turns sick at the sight of the food 
over which he has gloated in his thoughts and 



dreams, Harlan felt a strange, vague sinking and 
reluctance come over hira when he stepped down 
from the train. The place was not just what he 
had pictured it : the station was on the wrong 
side, and the path to the cottage led the wrong 
way. His heart misgave him strangely. But he 
knew it was only the natural recoil of the feeling 
that he had unconsciously strained to breaking, 
and that the sight of Marian would set all right 
again. 

He came to the gate. Through the shrubbery 
he saw a light in the little west room ; his heart 
leaped up : that must be the office, and doubtless 
father and daughter were there together. "While 
he lingered, the light was put out, and he heard 
footsteps — a strange man came out and locked 
the door, and walked down the path toward him. 
Harlan stepped back to let him pass; he stopped 
in the open gateway, and the two young men 
stood face to face. 

" Does Mr. Stilfleet live here ? " Harlan asked, 
touching his hat. 

Hilgate continued to eye him with a deliber- 
ate, searching scrutiny, and the immovable face 
and form thus confronting him communicated to 
Harlan gradually an undefined sense of alarm, 
which was increased by an unwonted depth in 
the habitually deep and commanding voice that 
answered : 

' Yes, but he is not at home. He and his 
daughter have gone to the city, and will not be 
back for a day or two." 

Harlan said, "Thank you," mechanically, and 
turned away, lingering a minute to think what 
he should do next ; he felt vexed and hurt. 

"Wait a moment," the other said in the same 
deep, deliberate tone. " Your name is Harlan, 
I believe? My name is Hilgate." 

Harlan glanced at him sharply, taking a 
stronger and stronger dislike to him. 

" Yes, I have heard the name," he answered 
carelessly, and would have i)assed by him to re- 
turn to the station ; but Hilgate persisted : 

""Where are you going now? There's no 
place here where you can spend the night, and 
the boat won't be back till morning. I've got a 
skiff down here, and I'm going across; and, if 
you like to come with me, I'll show you the way 
to an liotel." 

Harlan remembered Marian's writing him how 
kind young Hilgate had been in executing his 
father's friendly offices, and reflected that it was 
foolish to start upon ill terms with a person 
whom he would have to meet as a friend of her 
father and herself; and, besides, he knew not 
what else to do. So he said : 

" Well, I am in rather a tight place, and shall 
be obliged to you." 

So they took a path through the cottage 



BLAKE'S FEERY. 



103 



grounds down to the shore and embarked. The 
river, dammed up by the hills here, spread out 
like a lake. A mile below, it broke through a 
narrow gap to the eastward, full of falls and rap- 
ids ; and around this impassable channel a canal 
had been constructed to the south. Harlan knew 
these facts from Marian ; and he asked his com- 
panion about them as they crossed the pleasant, 
rippling current. 

" I suppose that is Partridge Island ? And that 
must be the gate — that dip in the hills there ? 
And whereabout is the canal? " 

Hilgate answered briefly but politely in the 
same grave, unmoved manner, rowing with a 
grace and power that Harlan could not but ad- 
mire. Half-way over, he stopped and let the 
boat drift a little way, just dipping the oars and 
keeping the prow up-stream. Harlan glanced at 
him but took no further notice, and presently he 
turned the boat's head again and sent her quiv- 
ering to the westward shore. Beaching the skiflF 
and making her fast, Hilgate led the way up a 
steep path till they came to a stone fence with a 
stile. Hilgate leaned against the wall, and Har- 
lan was glad to sit a moment on the step after 
the climb. He looked back at the sloping fields 
and the river placid in the moonlight, beyond 
the black border of shadowing trees. Hilgate 
said : 

" Mr. Harlan, I am going to ask you a ques- 
tion that will seem impertinent to you. Before 
I ask it, I want to disclaim anything of the kind. 
I neve-r heard of you till last night; I did not 
know till then that there was such a person in 
the world, and I tell you plainly I wish there was 
not. But I suppose that's no fault of yours, and 
I want if possible not to quarrel with you or 
treat yon otherwise than as one gentleman treats 
another. Have you come back with the expec- 
tation of marrying Miss Stil fleet ? " 

Harlan sat very still. Tlie steadiness and de- 
liberate, full voice of the other had the greater 
effect upon him as things foreign to himself; he 
was of a rather slight and nervous constitution, 
impressible, susceptible of enthusiastic ardor, but 
of panic as well. Whatever courage he had was 
moral, and his coolness that of habit and self- 
control. He was startled by the calm, chosen 
words of his questioner, but he did not show it. 
His eyes did not turn from the moonlit river, 
and after a minute's silence he answered low and 
distinctly : 

" I certainly have." 

He stood up and looked for the way beyond 
the stile, but Hilgate held him with his eye. 

" I don't intend that you shall," he said, in 
the same deep, low way. 

Harlan put up his foot on the stile. 

" Wait ! " Hilgate commanded, with a move- 



ment and a ring in the word that mutinous rail- 
road hands knew and seldom disputed, and Har- 
lan waited, with an inward tremor. 

"Don't cross me lightly," Hilgate went on, 
falling back into his former controlled manner. 
" I tell you I don't want to quarrel with you ; I 
know nothing against you ; I want to treat you 
like a gentleman. But you and I stand in such 
a position toward one another that it's as much 
as we can do if we manage to keep the peace. I 
shall be frank and open, and I expect the like 
treatment from you. For your own sake as well 
as mine, I seriously advise you not to trifle with 
me, or make light of what I say. I am talking 
with you under great self-restraint, and am hard- 
ly my own master. I made Miss Stilfleet's ac- 
quaintance a year ago and more, as you may have 
heard; but you can't have heard that I admired 
her the first tune I saw her more than any one I 
ever knew ; that I have seen her almost daily 
ever since, and that my regard for her has in- 
creased day by day till there is nothing in the 
world or out of it that could tempt me to give 
her up, and very little that I would not do or 
endure to prevent it." 

His manner was impressive, and Harlan was 
not the less moved by it that he stood so still 
himself and met the other's steadfast look and 
speech with unshrinking eyes and face. And 
after a moment Hilgate went on : 

"I advise you to go away; I can not answer 
for myself if you stay here. Consider well be- 
fore you decide. I think it will not be good for 
either of us if you remain — for either of us or 
for her. But I don't want to seem inconsiderate. 
If you consent to go peaceably, I will do any- 
thing in my power for you. If there is anything 
you can think of, you have only to name it ; but 
I will make you a definitive offer. I hope you 
will not regard it as offensively mercenary or 
otherwise. I don't look at it in that light at all. 
It is quite impossible that any one should care 
more for Miss Stilfleet than I do, to put it mod- 
erately, and I am equally sure that there is no 
one who does. I mean no offense ; I am trying 
my best not to offend you. I simply mean that 
I can not conceive of any gain or success that 
could induce me to think of leaving her for two 
years. If the facts were different, there would 
be no shame in it ; but, as they are, they give me 
some rights. If you concede that, I can see no 
reason why you should not accept some consid- 
eration for the great favor you would do me. Id 
so many words, our company has an enterprise 
out there where you have been, as you probably 
know. Your experience makes you of value to 
us ; if you will go back there, I can give you a 
very good position and almost any salary. T:ike 
time to consider, and name any figure in reason." 



104 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



Harlan then for the first time withdrew his 
eyes from the speaker's face and turned about. 
He had a swimming sensation and a sudden 
yearning toward Marian, with the feeling that 
she was sliding from him and he grasping vainly 
after her. He wheeled around slowly without 
pausing till he looked again into Hilgate's face, 
and, though his voice was low and not very 
steady, he answered : 

" It would not be worth your while to offer 
me less than a million or two." 

He crossed the stile quickly and went on with- 
out looking back, came to the road, and followed 
it till he found the village and an inn. 

He felt uneasy and excited all the evening, 
and had a restless, troubled night ; but with the 
daylight came back confidence and determina- 
tion. 

In the morning he learned from the clerk of 
the ferry that Mr. Stilfieet would be back that 
day and resolved to wait. He got a waterman 
to take him out upon the river. They rowed 
down to the mouth of the canal, passing to the 
west of Partridge Island, and as they came back 
Harlan wanted to go round the island on the 
east side, but the boatman said it was hardly 
safe. 

" You can see it lays square acrost the Gate, 
and the water eddies in there from both ways 
and makes it kind o' whirlpoolly. I've been 
round there, but it's rough and wet anyway. It's 
smoother further in ; the water jest crowds and 
piles to get througli the Gate, and it runs like 
Ned when it's in till it comes to the falls — that's 
the sound of them you can hear now. I don't 
calc'late," the man gossiped on as he rowed, 
" thet nobody's never been as fur in there as 
Tom Hilgate ; but I reckon he'll go once too often 
some day and not come back." 

And he went on to narrate the lives and ad- 
ventures of people who had been carried down 
the fatal passage. 

After the early dinner, Harlan had still a 
couple of hours on his hands. The landlord's 
son, young Raymond, had a handsome horse 
standing before the hotel, and, Harlan admiring 
it, Raymond asked him to ride with him two or 
three miles up the river. The miles proved long, 
and they were a good while getting back. It 
was warm, and, as Harlan got down at the ho- 
tel door, Raymond asked him to hand his coat 
into the little room off the bar. Seeing water 
and towels there as he hung up the coat, Harlan 
pulled off his own to wash his hands, and hung 
it up for a moment beside the other, noticing 
that they were very much alike. 

About three that afternoon, Hilgate saw 
Marian and her father take the train for the 
ferry, and he entered another car and came with 



them, but without being seen by them. Arriv- 
ing, he walked down to the landing, again avoid- 
ing the Stilfleets, whom he saw getting their 
key from the agent with whom he had left it. 
He talked with the ferry clerk a minute or two, 
and then went and got his skiff and crossed the 
river. 

When Harlan had washed his hands hastily 
and paid his bill, he hurried down to the river, 
to find the ferry-boat just gone across. He 
looked for some one to row him over, saw a 
boat below the wharf with the oars in it, and 
ran round to get it. As he cast about for the 
owner, Hilgate came down the bank in his 
leisurely, agile way, passed by him, and stepped 
into the boat. 

" Get in," he said, standing and steadying the 
rocking skiff with an oar. 

Harlan stepped back. 

" Are you afraid ? " Hilgate said slowly. 

The blood flew into Harlan's face. Without 
answering, he got in, and Hilgate pulled off. As 
soon as they were well afloat, Hilgate turned and 
crept forward and hung the anchor just over 
the bow, fastening it with a running knot. He 
brought the slack-rope back with him and took 
a turn of it round his foot as he sat at the oars ; 
then he headed the boat south and pulled rapidly 
down-stream. Harlan lounged in the stern and 
looked on, but there was that about the set face 
and the way the boat foamed through the water 
that kept him from making any remark. But, 
though he made no sign, he looked away across 
to where the cottage above the ferry peeped out 
from its trees and vines, and a line of " Horatius," 
which he had not seen since he spouted the bal- 
lad at school, came into his mind with a sudden 
heart-sick apprehension of the old Roman's feel- 
ing when, with the bridge down and " thrice 
thirty thousand foes" behind him, he looked 
across the flood, and 

" He saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home." 

Without a word on either side, they swept 
swiftly and smoothly down the same course Har- 
lan had gone in the morning, past the west side 
of Partridge Island, and toward the mouth of the 
canal. But then, with a broad sweep, they 
headed back again. Harlan lay looking behind, 
seemingly interested in the southward view, but 
perfectly conscious that Hilgate was pulling a 
straight course without looking ahead. Sud- 
denly his attention was aroused to the fact that 
the water was growing rougher and a shadow 
drawing over them. He sat up quickly, making 
the boat rock, and saw that they were passing 
around the southern point of the island and tak- 
ing the eastern passage. He was quite sure Hil- 



BLAKE'S FERRY. 



105 



gate had not once turned his head to look for- 
ward, and he asked sharply : 

" Do you know where you're going ? " 

Hilgate looked at him but kept on rowing, 
and answered evenly but with a peculiar note in 
his voice like that of the night before when he 
had bidden Harlan " Wait ! " 

" I know what I'm about, and if you don't 
want to upset tliis boat you'd better not try 
jumping round again like that. Sit still and 
keep the skitf trimmed." 

The high rocky islet drew between them and 
the low sun ; ou every otiier hand the heights 
frowned over them. The crowding, concenter- 
ing currents, that swirled darkly about them and 
toi?sed their light craft, lapped and fretted against 
the barring hills, and in the course of time had 
cut away and undermined all loose and friable 
material from their steeps, and left to all appear- 
ance only precipitous walls of bare rock, shagged 
and crowned with clinging masses of evergreens. 

The heights approached one another gradually 
toward the east, hemming the river into a nar- 
rower and narrower bed till it readied two lofty 
opposing cliffs, strikingly like a Titanic gateway. 
The whole scene, to one coming suddenly from 
the quiet beauty of the outer river, was one of 
such impressive and gloomy grandeur that it dis- 
tracted Harlan's attention till he perceived with 
a start that they were in the center of the con- 
verging currents, and that, though Hilgate had 
headed the boat westward and was pulling stead- 
ily, they were drifting sternward slowly but 
surely in toward the dark defile, whence came 
distinctly now the roar of rapids and falls. He 
felt the blood ebb out of his face, feet, and hands, 
leaving them cold; then as suddenly it came back 
with a hot rush of resentment, and he looked all 
about and up the cliffs, then bent forward and 
spoke to Hilgate with a fierce calmness : 

" What the devil are you about ? " 

Hilgate did not quicken his stroke or change 
bis attitude or expre:<sion, as he answered : 

" I wouldn't call on the devil now if I were 
you ; you'd better call on God. No man who 
went down there was ever found again, dead or 
alive. And, if you keep jumping about, you'll go 
down a little sooner than there's any need." 

He laid himself to the oars then for a few 
strokes and made perceptible headway, then let 
the boat fall away again. He repeated this every 
minute or two after that, gaining a little always 
when he put forth his strength, but steadily drift- 
ing in on the whole, till they lay fairly under 
the gigantic gateway, to pass which was certain 
death. 

Harlan crouched in the stern, in a still and 
helpless desperation, looking into the chasm, and 
by degrees comprehending how utterly he was 



in this man's power. Not only was he over- 
matched twofold in weight, strength, and assur- 
ance, but his only hope of escape lay in that very 
strength and dexterity of his enemy. He could 
do nothing; to attack, to interfere in any way, 
even to move quickly, was to precipitate the 
worst he had to fear. But, under the very shadow 
of the dread gate, Hilgate, by a powerful effort, 
gained a few yards, and then suddenly slipped the 
anchor with a motion of his foot. Tt plunged 
and then dragged, caught, the oars keeping the 
boat from drawing too sharply and snapping the 
rope; it slipped, then caught again and held. 
Hilgate slackened his stroke gradually, trying the 
boat's behavior under the strain, then ceased 
and crossed the oars carefully before him. 

He was somewhat blown with the exertion, 
and he sat bent forward a little while over the 
oars, while he got his breath. The tug of the 
anchor on the bow sunk the skiff's head deep in 
the water, and the swift current lapped and gur- 
gled past them, communicating to the boat a 
tremulous vibration, as if she sympathized with 
its eagerness for the rush and leap of the falls. 
Far down the dark and narrow gorge, whose high 
walls echoed with the reverberation of the plung- 
ing waters, Harlan could see now dimly an ever- 
moving, ghostly whiteness which he knew was a 
cloud of spray. 

Hilgate took up the loose end of the anchor- 
rope, which Harlan saw with a start controlled 
the running knot that alone held it fast at the 
bow. Then Hilgate spoke in a slow, predeter- 
mined manner and deep, clear voice : 

"Now, listen to me. You will never go out 
of here unless I take you. If I jerk this rope, 
this skiff will shoot in there, and in three minutes 
you will be over the fall. But promise me to 
take the first train south and not to come back, 
and I'll land you safe in half an hour from now. 
Decide which you prefer." 

Slowly there rose in Harlan a burning, fierce 

desire to spring upon him and throttle the life 

out of him. He clutched the boat's gunwale in 

his hot impatience, but the consciousness of its 

futile madness sufficed to hold him still, and then 

crept over him with a benumbing sense of faint- 

I ness and soreness that made him feel like rolling 

1 into the deep, cool current, where at least there 

! was room to stretch out. He was obliged to 

i push himself forward so that he lay at length in 

I the boat, his shoulders only resting on the stern- 

1 seat, and his arms behind his head. To Hilgate 

I it seemed an attitude of defiance. He looked 

down at him a minute or two, then took out his 

watch and glanced at it, and said as before : 

" How much time do you want ? " 

" If I go down there," Harlan answered, 

" what good will it do you? You will go, too." 



106 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



" Perhaps so," Ililgate returned, " perhaps 
not. There are places where it is possible for a 
good swimmer who knows them perfectly to land. 
Don't trouble yourself about me ; I'll take my 
chance. There would be no chance for you." 

" Only a coward would take such an advan- 
tage!" Harlan retorted hotly. "Even among 
gamblers it is considered dishonorable to bet 
upon a certainty." 

Hilgate winced perceptibly, but recovered at 
once. He answered evenly : 

" I don't choose to discuss the point with you. 
How much time do you want? " 

Harlan sat up. He was quite close now. 

" I'll tell you one thing," he said ; " I won't go 
down there alone ; I'll cling fast to you as long 
as there's life in me ! " 

There was a touch of contempt in Hilgate's 
reply : 

" I wouldn't be too sure of that. I think I 
can take care of myself." 

Harlan lay back as before, his arms under 
his head and his eyes on the other. And while 
Hilgate thought he braved him unfalteringly, he 
cried inwardly and bewailed his reckless rashness 
in entering the boat. Fool ! fool ! Why had he 
got in ? To prove he was not afraid when he was 
afraid. He was a coward, and a fool as well ; 
he was only more afraid of being thought afraid 
than of the actual peril. He had always been 
so. Well, was he not richly paid? Had he a 
right to allow his folly to involve not only his own 
destruction but this man's guilt of blood ? And 
Marian — at that thought his fierce resentment 
sprang up again. What claim had this fellow 
upon his truth or to any regard? By the deceit 
of an implied promise to ferry him over, he had 
inveigled him into this snare ; did such treach- 
ery deserve any greater respect ? Deceit ? It 
would be no deceit. There were things that 
outweighed all words. Compulsory speech or 
writing was held void in any court. Without 
any definite volition, he continued his thinking 
aloud : 

"Do you imagine any one would be bound 
by such a promise under these circumstances? I 
suppose you have the power to make me repeat 
any form of words you choose." 

Hilgate looked at him a minute, then an- 
swered, unchanged : 

" That will do you no good. I want no form 
of words : if you couple your promise with any 
such proviso, it will be the same as a refusal. T 
simply want you to assure me in your own way 
that you will do as I require." 

" And do you believe I should keep such a 
promise made under threats against my life? " 

And after a pause Hilgate answered with de- 
liberate assurance, " Yes, I do." 



They faced one another gravely for a minute, 
then Hilgate looked down at his watch and said 
with a determined air : 

" Think it over, now, and take your choice. 
There's no danger of an interruption. I'll give 
you fifteen minutes to make up your mind." 

The commanding voice and address of the 
handsome fellow had from the first wrought 
powerfully upon Harlan ; he had always been 
strongly aflfected by what is in most people an 
instinctive submission to the influence of certain 
natural leaders. Now for a time it took com- 
plete possession "of him, and he gave entertain- 
ment to all manner of weak and plausible imagin- 
ings. There was no use denying that Hilgate 
was by far the finer fellow, every way his supe- 
rior, and an infinitely fitter companion for her 
— rich, strong, clever, and looking it all ; and, in 
candor, ought he to be the less admired for what 
he would do and risk for her sake? Was not all 
literature full of the glorification of such absorb- 
ing passion? He recoiled with horror from that 
dark, resounding gorge, and beside it in his mind 
came unbidden the picture of a South American 
valley, sunny and peaceful and beautiful as para- 
dise. Life seemed very sweet then, and could he 
hesitate between death in that gorge and life in 
that valley when the only question was whether 
or not he should leave Marian free to make a 
better match if she chose? He had not named 
her nor let his thought dwell upon her in that 
train of reasoning till now, and at her name 
there leaped into his heart the remembered long- 
ing with which he had ached so many a day in 
that happy valley; and, at the idea of life there 
without even the hope that had made his exile 
endurable, the sunny valley turned suddenly 
black in his thought, as if Cotopaxi had belched 
forth and rained thick ashes upon it and dark- 
ness that could be felt. No, there were things 
worse than death ! 

The unflinching face and figure he confronted 
became inexpressibly hateful to him, and a mur- 
derous feeling swelled in him almost beyond re- 
straint. He turned on his side and drew down 
his hat to shut out the hated vision. But his 
thoughts remained hot and resentful. What rea- 
son had this man to place him in such a dilem- 
ma? Had he any right to further the ends of his 
treacherous entrapper by stickling about would 
and would not? Why not say what the fellow 
demanded, and as soon as he was free deny and 
defy him ? He had already warned him, and was 
not that the manly part? Truth was no matter 
of words hut of deeds. " A man may smile and 
smile, and be a villain " ; a man may lie and lie, 
and all his words be true. All men say thus 
and so every hour upon hearsay or half-knowl- 
edge, and have to explain or go without explain- 



BLAKE'S FERRY. 



107 



ing, yet all are not false. To quibble about words 
in a matter of life and death was a womanish 
superstition. What should he say — that was all? 
How should he turn or rise and say it ? He tried 
this form and that ; he imagined how he would 
sit and look and speak. But he felt the blood 
come and go in his face, and his voice stick and 
die in his throat. His heart sank again ; he knew 
he could not do it. The fellow's very expression 
of belief in his word had stirred a string in him 
that vibrated through all that sophistry and still 
rang clear. What he might be led to do in haste 
or sudden fear, what he might feel bound to do 
for another's sake, he could not tell ; but there 
were things he could not say in cold blood for 
his own gain or safety. It was no matter of 
would or would not; he could not do it! But 
why should he not for her sake? Was he not 
hers? Were they not one? Should he let his 
scruple of conscience or habit of mind bring 
harm to her? Again at the thought of her the 
yearning heart-sickness rose over him ; again he 
was swayed by the longing to go to meet her to 
be parted no more. But her image, that had fos- 
tered all his better part so long, stirred it now 
anew ; and he felt by anticipation the intolerable 
shame of owing her welcome, her dear, pure pres- 
ence always — to a lie ! Yes, that was it ; there 
was no disguising it. He could not wrong her 
by selling her at such a price; his first duty to 
her was to be true. No, he not only could not 
— he was far from boastful now — but out of his 
dread and weakness he cried to God for help to 
keep his resolve that he would not. 

And yet, and yet ! — the weak flesh shrank 
and recoiled. Was there no escape? Covertly 
he examined the cliffs with eager scrutiny ; in- 
stinctively even then he would not let Hilgate 
see that he quailed. He peered down into the 
dark flood, and mentally measured his strength 
with it; could he row or swim against it? The 
inevitable answer sent his thought back at Hil- 
gate : could he leap up and seize an oar and 
strike him dead ! He hugged the thought for a 
while, but he knew he could not, and if he could 
it would not help him. And Hilgate sat calmly 
and watched the hands count the time. 

Physically Harlan was as powerless as a new- 
born child. An active, impetuous, grown man, 
he lay there, and felt as if all his sinews were 
drawn ; he could not move a finger in his own 
defense. But he would not, could not yield. 
Bone and muscle were useless, but might he not 
match him with his brain? Could he not yet 
outwit him? He thought of Sonti, the early ex- 
plorer of the Northwest, with one good hand and 
an artificial one of metal, left alone for months 
among the wild tribes, with a thousand miles of 
primeval wilderness between him and another 



white man, actually making his crippled member 
do tenfold service, and ruling over a savage horde 
by the awe of his iron hand. More aptly he re- 
membered the man in Bulwer's novel (the name 
Jaspar ran in his mind) who, when beleaguered 
something like himself in an isolated upper room 
at night, pretended to write what his enemy de- 
manded of him, wrote instead a statement of his 
situation, wrapped a weight in it, and tossed it 
from the window upon a ledge where a friendly 
hand would find it in the morning; and so es- 
caped. Was it possible for him to communicate 
with any one ? While his body lay motionless, 
his mind beat about the world like Noah's wing- 
weary dove. But it presently returned to rest, 
finding no point of support. 

A tired, drowsy feeling crept over him, a long- 
ing to sleep and forget it all, such as comes to us 
after w eary, anxious days. But not to w ake again I 
To slide so into the undiscovered land whence 
none returns! Oh, the man could not be in 
earnest ! Could he deliberately perpetrate such 
a crime? But a glance at him did not reassure ; 
and were not the newspapers full of deadly deeds 
done for like cause ? 

He must hug no weak delusion. He must ad- 
dress himself to meet with such fortitude as he 
might the hard fate that confronted him. With 
an effort he turned his shrinking face to regard 
it. What would it be like? He felt in imagina- 
tion the swift, smooth rush down the dark defile, 
heard the roar, felt the dashing spray, took the 
breathless flight and plunge. And what then? 
Should he sink and be smothered with water, 
struggle vainly for the upper air, and then slide 
into inanition? Should he drift, still conscious, 
into some deep cave, to keep thenceforth the 
grisly company of the ones lost there before him ? 
Should he be dashed to death on the cruel rocks 
or jammed between them irretrievably? He 
turned from that contemplation, shuddering. 

Why should he vex himself? Whatever its 
form, it would he short. He had always hoped 
for a speedy death, and resolved not to suffer it 
but once. And as for the dim beyond, it was no 
new object in his thought. He had not needed 
reminder of graveyard or preacher to turn him to 
it. Life trod always close beside death, and any 
step might be across the line. He had not been 
so fortunate as they who walk the world in the 
unwavering confidence that they can see behind 
the veil, and are solaced and inspired by the bea- 
tific vision on which they fix their eyes. But more 
and more he had come to see and feel that he and 
his life were part of the infinite order and move- 
ment of the world. He acted and must act as if 
free, but when he looked back he saw that his 
life had been shaped at every turn by forces out- 
side of his will, and he felt under no more obli- 



108 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



gation to reconcile freedom with fate than to 
comprehend the million mysteries that enveloped 
thought and sense. Death is as life to Him who 
orders all ; here or there we lie in his hand and 
perform his immutable will. 

That well-tried conviction did not fail him 
utterly now, though flesh and spirit shrank. 
More palpably than ever before, he felt the re- 
sistless grasp upon his life ; and he yielded him- 
self, like a child that struggles a moment with 
the arms that lull it, then falls asleep. Humbly 
he solaced himself' with the thought that he 
should die true, should die for the truth as really 
as any martyr of the past. His mind wandered 
back to the men who had died for every cause 
and religion, for liberty and for loyalty. He 
went over hastily the deaths he remembered of 
notable people : thought of Socrates calmly drain- 
ing the fatal cup ; of the selfish, frivolous, courtly 
Charles apologizing to his attendants that he was 
"an unconscionable while a-dying " ; of the lov- 
ing, reverent fortitude of William and Mary ; of 
the false, merciless, corrupted Philip testifying 
that he died conscious of rectitude and of having 
wronged no man ; of rehgious Dr. Johnson, with 
his life-long horror of death ; of noble Dr. Ar- 
nold's noble end ; of Wolfe and Montcalm, Nel- 
son and Moore, and the host who have had the 
enviable fortune to die in the ardor of glorious 
victory or glorious defeat ; of great-hearted 
Thackeray, found dead with his arms thrown up 
upon the pillow ; of the good Macaulay dying 
where he had lived, in his library chair; of 
Dickens, struck down at his table, and lying a 
night and a day with that stertorous breathing 
that typified his life, then resting for the first 
time and finally ; of Russell, before he went out 
to execution, turning from parting with his wife 
in the prison and saying, "Now the bitterness of 
death is past! " At that, with a great throb, his 
thought leaped back to Marian, and he cried to 
her out of the deep waters : " Marian ! Marian ! 
Marian ! " And then, as if the flood indeed en- 
compassed him and his ears were full of its loud 
lapping and bubbling, he heard Hilgate's voice 
sounding far off and solemnly : 

" You have three minutes left to decide ! " 
The warning startled him vaguely, and scat- 
tered his thoughts like a stone dropped in a stream. 
But the strong current was only disturbed and 
set again in a moment; all his instincts sought 
and huddled about the thought of Marian. Oh 
yes, that was the bitterness of it! He felt that 
he could bear it but for that ; but how could he 
bear that? He could not, he could not! He 
held her with his thought; he could not let her 
go. He held her long, long and fast. A mighty 
love filled him and lifted him bodily; he felt 
there was nothing he could not do or face for 



her sake except to give her up. But what could 
he do now ? Nothing but give her up, nothing 
but endeavor to die worthy of her. 

He felt himself turning from her, felt her 
slipping from him as if the heart were being 
drawn from his breast. It grew dark; he 
heaved with a suffocating inward sobbing. But 
suddenly he was stilled. Light and clear, like 
the voices heard of old from heaven, he seemed 
to hear her now, her sweet, plaintive, reverential 
tones comforting him and saying : 

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for 
thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they 
comfort me." 

A great stillness, a deep, sad peace and so- 
lemnity stole over him. He sobbed still, but low 
and subsiding. He made his peace with men, 
with this man ; he put enmity out of his heart. 
He would not survive in his place. He com- 
posed himself as to sleep. He trusted God ; he 
could leave Marian and his sister in his care. 
Poor Jess ! poor Jess ! 

Half unconsciously then, he fumbled in his 
breast for Marian's last letter and her picture. 
Ha, they were gone ! Could they be lost ? The 
thought was a bitter pang. Then he remem- 
bered the two coats hanging together in the 
hotel ; he had put on the wrong one in his haste. 
But what was this in the pocket? Something 
hard and cold. His fingers groped about it me- 
chanically, then clutched hold of it, and though 
he made no sound he seemed to himself to shout 
till he heard the cliffs ring and reecho. Right- 
eous God, he held a revolver in his hand! But 
then he fell to trembling — if it were not loaded ! 
He drew it out eagerly, keeping it out of sight; 
he pressed the spring, bent back the barrel, and 
the chamber fell out in his hand. It was full of 
ball-cartridges; he counted them with his fin- 
gers over and over, head and point. He lay still 
and fondled the weapon, and he thanked God 
for gunpowder, that makes the weak the equal 
of the strong and cruel! 

The case of Hilgate's watch snapped short. 
His voice said slowly : 

" The time is up. What do yon say ? " 

Harlan put back the chamber carefully, closed 
it, and examined every part. Then he sat up, 
rested his hand on his knee with the pistol 
pointed, and looked Hilgate in the face. They 
confronted each other silently awhile. 

"That was what made you so cool, was it?" 
Hilgate said then, steadily. 

Harlan did not answer nor move his eyes or 
his hand. 

" Well," Hilgate went on presently, " what 
will you do now ? " 

"I will ask you," Harlan answered, low and 



BLAKE'S FERRY. 



109 



huskily, but with a firm hand and face, " to take 
those oars and row me out of this. I'm not good 
at rowing or swimming, but I'm a practiced 
shot." 

Hilgate said, " You will not shoot." 

" You said you would believe my word," 
Harlan answered; "do you doubt it now ? " 

"You have not given your word." 

Harlan's face fell before that unfaltering gaze. 
Should he be beaten still ? He felt, with a great 
heart-sinking, more than ever how true it is that 
the man who has assurance and is without fear 
can do anything and go anywhere. Hilgate 
seemed to jjenetrate his consciousness. No, he 
did not want to shoot him. Could he, if he 
would, sit there and deliberately pull the trigger 
that would kill ? His soul revolted from taking 
the man's blood upon it. And Hilgate, as if he 
followed the motion of his thought, took it up 
and said : 

" If you were to kill me, what better off 
would you be ? " 

An overpowering despondency settled down 
upon Harlan. A blackness gathered about him, 
and he seemed sinking out of consciousness. 
Then suddenly he came back with a sharp re- 
bound. He set his face and cleared his eyes. 
He seemed to see Marian, grieved and reproach- 
ful, looking at him mutely, as she might if he 
quailed from his country's defense or from hers. 
No, he would not be beaten ! He was bound to 
use the means Heaven had so strangely put in his 
hands. He would use them. His face and voice 
were sorrowful when he spoke, but there was a 
determination in them not to be mistaken. 

" I don't want to hurt you," he said ; " I bear 
you no ill-will. But, if you slip that knot, I will 
shoot you through the heart ! " 

A baffled expression came into Hilgate's face 
then, and he bowed his head in stern meditation. 
But soon he raised it slowly, and looked back 
only more darkly than before, and spoke deep 
and low : 

"Be careful; don't try to scare me! Don't 
rouse the devil in me any more than is neces- 
sary." 

He put his hand under his coat, and drew out 
a revolver of his own. Harlan could not disguise 
a perceptible quivering. Hilgate said : 

" You see it is an even thing yet. Tlirow 
yours away, and I will throw mine." 

"I can't do it," Harlan answered, absently; 
" it is not mine." Then he looked up and added : 
" It did not make me cool ; I did not know I had 
it till a moment ago. This is George Raymond's 
coat." 

Hilgate sat darkly a minute or two, then bent 
over and laid his pistol in the bottom of the boat, 
equally distant between him and Harlan. 



"Put yours down beside it," he said. 

" Do you promise to row me out of here in 
safety, if I lay it there ? " 

Hilgate sat and looked at him a long minute 
before his lips could move to say the one word — 

"Yes." 

Harlan turned aside his face and thought it 
over and over, finding it painfully difficult to 
make up his mind. But at last he turned back 
slowly, heaved a deep sigh, and leaned forward 
and laid his pistol down beside the other. He 
sat up again then, but he could not look at Hil- 
gate or hide the strong trepidation that took hold 
of him. 

But Hilgate took no notice. He sat, looking 
down at the pistols, thinking somberly, but not 
of them. Then he raised his head and put out 
his arms, moving stiffly. He slid out the oars. 

" Reach forward and take this line," he said, 
coldly. 

Harlan did so. Hilgate dipped the oars and 
began to row, increasing gradually till he pulled 
with his strength. And the anchor-rope sagged. 

"Now jei'k that loose," he said, harshly. 

Harlan obeyed, and the current drew the rope 
rattling out of the ring and whipped it astern of 
them with significant swiftness. 

The flood seemed to gather together and 
surge at the skiff with redoubled power, and 
went seething and whirling away from them as 
if angrily bent upon having them to whisk down 
the gorge. Very, very slowly the cliffs stole 
back and spread apart. The frowning gateway 
no longer loomed above them ; the heights bowed 
their heads by degrees ; and out of the valley of 
death they crept with increasing pace, and then 
emerged from behind the island upon the placid 
river of light and life. Not a word was spoken, 
but steadily and powerfully they swept up the 
stream, the faint grace of the fading sunset 
brooding over hill and river like a heavenly ben- 
ediction, and the smooth current bubbling, oh, 
so gratefully, against the bows ! 

The ferry came in sight ; the boat slid in and 
ran close to the wharf. Hilgate steadied the 
skiff against the piles beside a ladder, and 
waited without looking at Harlan. Harlan got 
up slowly, took hold of the rounds and climbed 
out and stood on the wharf. He lingered and 
looked back a minute or two, finding himself 
dizzy ; then he went away up the plank walk, 
crossing from side to side of it as he ascended. 
He passed the station and took the path he had 
followed the day before. He had a half-formed 
feeling that he was grown old, and had walked 
that path once when he was young. He came 
to the gate, and went in and up the steps. 

There was a quick rustle, a patter of firm, 
small feet. Marian Stilfleet appeared in the door- 



110 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



way, stopped and looked at him, and gave a 
startled cry. He awoke then. He took her in 
his arms; he began to laugh. But he fell down 
on the bench, and broke out into loud sobbing. 
Marian's father came out hastily at the sound. 

" Harlan, Ned Harlan, what is it, what is it? " 
he called, in helpless alarm. 

Harlan stood up, staggering, still holding Ma- 
rian. 

"Nothing, nothing! " he cried out. ''Don't 
mind me ; don't be afraid. It is nothing; only 
this thy son was dead and is alive again, he was 
lost and is found ! " 



THE PINE-ROOT FENCE. 

IT skirts the field for many a rood, and twines 
Grotesquely, forks and antlers, baffling, thus 
Crumple to leap the barrier underneath 
The rain of missiles cast by ragged Jim, 
While grazing the green basins of the road. 
Not Carlo, though he saw within the field 
The woodchuck washing, by his wood-edged den, 
His whiskered face with paws hung Shaker-like, 
Could pierce its web, although with quivering 

brush 
And eager yelp he seeks an entrance. Scarce 
The weasel could twist through. When Summer 

smiles 
The blackberry-bramble here finds ready room 
To hang its sable beehives. Here, too, clings 
The smooth, neat blackcap, and the raspberry 

shows 
Its ruddy turbans. Mingled slight with all 
The delicate clematis climbs and spangles round 
Its little leaves and spreads its woolly tufts 
When autumn glows. In that rich season, too, 
The allspice shows its crimson berries through 
The maze like clustered fires ; and the wild grape 
Twines its broad arbor o'er. In genial spring 
The bluebird in the crannies weaves a nest. 
And in the chinks the robin thrusts fresh moss 
And wreathes its tiny home ; blue, speckled eggs 
Tell whence the parent bird has instant flown, 
As little, truant Jack steals close and parts 
The verdure where she brooded. Winter sheds 
His plumage till the rough, grim, frowning fence 
Seems carved of pearl ; each twig and stub gro- 
tesque 
Shines in pure swan's-down where the snow bird 

leaves 
Its mezzotints of prints, and chirps its notes 
As if to link tlie ear to those glad songs 
That Spring sends jubilant o'er all the land. 
And then the variant colors of the fence — 
Some, soft and silvery, like velvet; some, 
Streaked like the agate ; some, like ebony 



Sable and glossy ; some, in curly spots 
Like dimples in the water, and some specked 
Like motes in sunbeams. Gray in lichen here. 
There, red in powdery moss, with now and then 
A splinter where the thistle's plumy stars 
Hung tattered, and slight, narrow openings wliere 
The wood-tick clicked its trick-trick castanets; 
The frog below has roughed his tambourine. 
While his small progeny has shrilly trilled 
Like the sweet chiming of the circling bells. 
Soon as the first warm days of April make 
In sheltered dingles the sharp-bladed grass 
Pierce sodden leaves, heave acorn-cups away, 
And mosses raise slight threads of sprays, to show 
The birds the rafters for their little huts. 
The nooks and crannies of the fence begin 
To show faint tinges from the opening buds 
Of the niched brambles, and they do not cease 
Until the thorns and apple-trees above 
See their white trickery doubled in the fence, 
Whelming its roughness in their velvet snow. 

Alfred B. Street. 



HOLIDAYS OFF THE BEATEN 
PATH. 

By William H. Rideing. 

ONE or two summers ago, when a club of 
ai'tists chartered a canal-boat and embarked 
in it for a cruise along the waterways of New 
York, it was looked upon by some as a novel 
and rather dubious experiment. They lit up the 
hold with the splendors of Turkish rugs, and 
hung it with pictures and soft tapestries ; they 
transferred the choicest contents of their studios 
into this cabin — statuettes of marble, bits of 
armor, and rare pottery of all sorts ; they oblit- 
erated whatever was against their sense of beauty, 
and succeeded in transforming the bulky carrier 
into barge such as never floated out of the harbor 
before, or perhaps anywhere in the world. All 
this was very charming, and would vastly en- 
hance the pleasure of an excursion in almost any 
direction ; but along the canal, amid a class noted 
for their savagery — what attraction could there 
be? The club came back hilarious with success, 
browned by the sun, and with portfolios crammed 
full of studies, which, elaborated into full-grown 
pictures, have been answering the question at 
various exhibitions ever since. What attractions 
along the canal, indeed ! There is the loveliest 
scenery and the quaintest character. In all the 
excursions we ever made, none gave us more sat- 
isfaction and pleasure than that from New York 
to Buffalo in a canal-boat which we made years 
before the Tile Club was born, and this despite 



HOLIDAYS OFF THE BEATEN PATH. 



Ill 



the fact that we had no special accommodations, 
and fared with the boatmen on the simplest food. 

One morning, when we were crossing the 
East River by Hamilton Ferry, and smoking our 
after-breakfast cigar (we were young then, and 
could smoke an after-breakfast cigar without 
tasting it for the rest of the day), a long tow 
of canal-boats, twenty or more, knitted together 
in the wake of one of those tow-boats which 
have no hulls to speak of, and an abnormal de- 
velopment of engine and smoke-stack, prevented 
us from entering the New York slip ; and while 
we waited for them to open a passage for us, we 
glanced at the varied life the plain of white decks 
revealed. There were babies rocking in cradles, 
and dogs peeping out of the cockpits; women 
hanging clothes out to dry, and women seated in 
chairs sewing. The distance between boat and 
boat was so small that no agility was necessary 
to bridge it; and perhaps it is unnecessary to 
say that there were women paying visits who 
ought to have been at home, as others were, who 
could be observed peeling potatoes and washing 
cabbage, and making other preparations for an 
early dinner. By " home " we mean on their 
own boats, for each of these twenty vessels was 
in the after-part the abode of a small family or 
a few bachelors. The signs of domesticity were 
striking in their variety, and, as our ferry-boat 
impatiently drew nearer to the obstructions, we 
could perceive one young woman seated at a 
sewing-machine which she had brought under 
the awning on deck, while from one of the cab- 
ins we could distinctly hear the tones of a par- 
lor organ. 

" That's the thing ! " said X , who is a clever 

journalist with such a quick eye for fresh phases 
of life and its occurrences that he is constantly 
" beating " his contemporaries — " that's the 
thing! Go up the river with a 'tow,' and 
through the canal by one of the boats." 

The suggestion was acted upon at once. We 
sought out an acquaintance among the produce- 
men near South Ferry, enlisted his services in 
engaging berths for us wnth a desirable captain, 
and one evening, less than a week later, we lay, 
with belted breeches, blue shirts, and broad- 
brimmed hats (an unavoidable alliteration), on 
the deck of a boat gliding away from the city, as 
the sun was setting fire to every western window 
and weathercock. 

The selection of a captain and a boat is the 
only difficulty in making the canal-trip. So far 
from being all barbarians, many of the boatmen 
are superior in intelligence to the average farmer 
by whose lands they pass, but there are some 
desperadoes among them who are to be avoided. 
Our butter-and-cheese friend was very fortunate. 
The boat he chose for us carried the captain's 



wife and daughter with it, and had as complete 
a menage astern as some yachts and French flats 
we know of: we were provided with a little 
cupboard wiiich, though not spacious enough to 
swing tipo cats in, was clean; and the captain, 
though by no means a saint, was a generous, 
good-humored, and well-behaved fellow. He as- 
sumed no virtues, and he exhibited few vices. 
He could swear, but his profanity was only vent- 
ed when there was an unusual delay in the locks. 
He could drink, and was even fond of a horn of 
whisky, but theisubtle devil of alcohol was al- 
ways under with him. 

Before we had been two days out of the city, 
and while we were still on tlie river following 
the steamer that was leading us to the entrance 
of the canal at Troy, we discovered that we had 
hit upon the very ideal of locomotion. In a 
steamer, on the smoothest water, there is the 
tremendous vibration of the engine ; in a yacht 
each tack throws the boat at a diflferent angle of 
incline; in a train the jar and noise are beyond 
comparison ; but in a canal-boat the eye is the 
one sense that perceives motion, while all the 
others are unconscious — the frame of the boat 
does not quiver, the water falls away from the 
bow without foam or vehemence, and the deck 
under one's feet seems to have the stability of 
earth. 

When we were on the canal itself, floating 
midway in the landscape, and gliding through it 
at a pace that enabled us to take in all its fea- 
tures, the sensation became one of ecstasy, and 
the long days are fixed in the memory like 
dreams. The silent channel that bears one 
fourth of all the freight coming from the West 
to the East threads the valley of the Mohawk, 
which in its softness and repose reminds us of 
some garden-spot in England. Far and wide the 
acres are cultivated, tiie orchards crouch in the 
blossom of spring, and the meadows are dyed by 
purple and white clover. In the wide expanse 
there is no tree or house whose removal would 
further beautify it. The river makes itself heard 
between the hills, and in one of the slopes that 
meet it the canal is terraced, embowered by foli- 
age. Sections of the old canal are seen here and 
there along the route — a moss-covered lock or 
a patch of the towpath nearly obliterated by 
weeds and grass. 

The interest is not permitted to lag, and the 
hours are unmeasui-ed. A boat comes along with 
a hard-worked woman seated in a rocking-chair 
at the stern; a wild lily, secured from the banks 
of the canal is drooping in a tumbler of water 
on a common box, wliich serves as a work-table ; 
and in an inclosure of rope and wood, like a 
sheep-pen, on the cabin-roof, several children 
are playing. By and by another boat passes. 



112 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



and we see a young woman pressing a tame j 
robin to her breast, and feeding it at the end of 
her finger. Meyer von Bremen's pictures are 
realized ; poetic simplicity in beautiful surround- 
ings is not a dreain. 

The houses on the towpath have quaint 
exteriors; and somewhere beyond Amsterdam 
there is one that is haunted — a pretty but sad- 
looking cottage. Tlie front door is not more 
than a stride from the water, and the windows 
are all battered in. The garden is a mass of 
weeds which have smothered the flowers, two 
or three hardy rose-bushes alone having strug- 
gled through with their pink-and-white blossoms. 
On one of the walls near the roof there is a large 
patch which seems to have missed the last appli- 
cation of paint, and the legend is that a young 
boatman was renovating the place for his prom- 
ised bride, when some one told him that she 
had flown with another : the brush fell out of his 
hand ; he came down the ladder, and locked 
himself in the house, out of which he never re- 
appeared alive, though his specter still holds pos- 
session. 

As evening approached the land appeared 
more beautiful than ever. There were level 
miles of velvet turf in superb condition, bounded 
by hills of the gentlest contours ; fields of strong, 
young grain, curling and singing at the touch 
of the breeze ; old homesteads hedged in with 
greenery, and paths winding off" toward villages 
in the distance. Tbe landscape seemed too calm 
to be American. Wells of light were hidden in 
the foliage and streamed out at every crevice — 
surely, this was an older land than ours. But 
above there was a sky of native splendor, of 
countless tints, of surpassing brilliance. When 
night came cool airs swept over us, and, if the 
horizon was interrupted at all, it was by tbe grace- 
ful outlines of some hill that added nobility to 
the prospect. As the stars made themselves 
known, myriads of fire-flies emulated them in 
the shrubbery along the banks, and flashed across 
the calm surface of tbe stream. 

Each boat carries a lantern in the bovr, whicb 
disperses a circle of yellow light on the watery 
track ahead. The tow-lines dip occasionally with 
a musical trill into the water, and in advance you 
may hear the steady thud of the horses' hoofs on 
the ground, or the low cry of the driver as he 
urges them on. At the stern the helmsman whis- 
tles or sings scraps of tunes until a lock engages 
him. His voice is then raised. "Lock belo-o- 
ow ! " he calls to his mate ; " Steady, ste-a-a-dy ! " 
to the driver. There is a momentary clatter of 
feet upon the deck ; we rise smoothly to the new 
level; the lock-lights fade ; quiet prevails again, 
and we are traveling with drowsy softness toward 
the amber morning. 



We did not suffer at all from confinement. 
As often as we pleased we sprang ashore, and 
now wandered into the neighboring woods, or 
sauntered through the towns and villages which 
we were passing. Our boat was heavily loaded, 
and traveled slower than others bound in the 
same direction, with lighter cargoes, which, by 
giving us a " lift " — a coui'tesy never refused on 
the canal — enabled us to overtake it even when we 
remained behind two or three hours. In this way 
we saw a good deal of Utica and its cheese-mar- 
ket ; Syracuse and its pretty avenues and interest- 
ing salt-wells ; Rochester and its handsome dwell- 
ings. 

One day we moored alongside a comfortable 
homestead at Oneida, and this, with two or 
three hundred acres, was the captain's home, 
where we spent several pleasant hours, and were 
treated with great hospitality. We picked straw- 
berries with the captain's daughters, and joined 
in a chase after a fiery colt ; we swung in a ham- 
mock under an old-fashioned porch, and we ended 
the day with a contra-dance. 

All along the canal we fell in with quaint char- 
acters and indigenous wit. Our helmsman over- 
flowed with native humor, and met any thrust at 
his peculiarities with never-failing repartee. He 
prided himself on his hair, though it was scant 
and bristly, and he anointed it several times a day 
with the contents of various small bottles, the use 
of which he pressed upon us at the outset of our 
acquaintance. " Would ye like to have some of 
this yar hair-'ile ? " he inquired, producing one 
of the vials, which we declined. " Well, see yar,'' 
he continued ; "jest you smell of this. This yar 
is boss-'ile, double-distilled, extra warranted. Ef 
you puts one drop on your head, your hair'll sud- 
denly have a handsome apperience, like mine." 
On one occasion the captain was describing the 
mysterious discovery of a pair of socks, buried 
near the canal. " They war large, and must have 
b'longed to a big man," he said. " Perhaps so, 
cap'n," his lieutenant replied ; " but don't be too 
sure that it wa'n't a little man with a big foot ! " 
" Wouldn't he do to fill up the last page of a comic 
almanac with ? " demanded the captain, referring 
to his man. "Yes," responded the latter, "and 
you'd make a fortin' ef you'd sit and hev your 
photogram taken to beautify valingtines! " 

About two weeks after leaving New York we 
reached the end of our journey at Buffalo, and, 
when we settled with the captain, our bill for 
board, lodging, and transportation was fourteen 
dollars. For this sum we had been conveyed up 
the Hudson in such a manner that every point of 
interest could be inspected ; we had seen the 
valley of the Mohawk and parts of tlie Genesee; 
we had been treated with uniform courtesy and 
hospitality ; we had made the acquaintance of a 



HOLIDAYS OFF THE BEATEN PATH. 



113 



class possessing many characteristics which lifted 
them above tlje commonplace, and we had gained 
in physical strength as well as in the recreation 
of the mental faculties. The fare was not made 
up of delicacies. There was an inordinate recur- 
rence of ham and eggs, which seemed to be more 
relished by the men than any other dish. But 
what we had was of good quality and sufficient — 
better, in fact, than that of most farm-houses. 
Our quarters were not like the cabins of modern 
Atlantic steamers ; but we could sleep soundly in 
them, though we had to wash on deck. There 
was not one circumstance to olfend us during the 
whole excursion, and we look back to it with 
unmitigated pleasure. 

The mind is so governed by habit that when, 
with the first warm days of April or May, the 
choice of a vacation is discussed, only certain 
watering-places or mountain resorts are consid- 
ered. A number of well-known routes are remem- 
bered and compared ; Newport, Long Branch, 
Saratoga, the Catskills, and the White Mountains 
are mentioned, and if the projector's purse is not 
a long one, he is apt to sigh and dismiss these, 
especially if he has a family to look out for ; then 
he thinks of some hurried excursion, perhaps 
through the Thousand Islands, down the St. Law- 
rence, and up the Saguenay; or up the Hudson, 
and over Lake George to the White Mountains ; 
but, as the arithmetic of the thing steals in with 
second thoughts, this, too, seems impracticable ; 
and he hesitates and vacillates until the vacation 
becomes a distress rather than a matter of pleasur- 
able expectation. We recognize that there are 
some who can not afford to be unconventional, and 
others who are so abundantly supplied with riches 
that any suggestion as to how they may spend a 
summer is superfluous. But we address ourselves 
to those who are embarrassed by unavoidable 
economies; who can not enter upon an excursion 
without counting every item of expense, and who 
are obliged to shiver in contemplating the tariffs 
of the usual summer resorts. To these we say : 
Do not be limited by habit ; devise new ways ; 
explore uew paths. The results may not always 
he satisfactory; but in exploration and experi- 
ment tliere is interest and recreation, while, if you 
are fortunate, some resources may be opened of 
which neither you nor your neighbors have ever 
dreamed. Economy in travel is a pain to some, 
when it is necessary to practice it where lavish- 
ness of expenditure is the custom, and this feel- 
ing is not wholly an outcome of snobbery ; but in 
some directions frugality may be exercised with- 
out peculiarity, though not usually in the tracks of 
the average summer tourist. Even supposing that 
money is not an object, we commend the invasion 
of new ground as being much better than the fol- 
lowing of paths wherein the habitual course of 



living is little changed — inspiration and tranquil- 
lity come with novelty, and he who would feel 
little better for a season's loafing at some place 
where fashion sets up an inexorable formula, may 
acquire unwonted vitality by doing just what we 
propose here for persons who are not by any 
means wealthy. The canal-trip, as we made it, 
could not be done by ladies; but it would be 
feasible to arrange with some boatman for the 
whole of his cabin accommodations, and to pro- 
vide for one's own table. We can imagine no- 
thing better than that, and this is but one of 
many ways in which our suggestion may be real- 
ized — ways that will multiply if they are once 
sought for by a person of ordinary inventiveness. 

One day, when we were debating with G 

as to where we could best spend a couple of 
weeks by the sea, he said, " Let us go to Bill 
Pharo's"; and, on the next morning, we em- 
barked in the steamer for Sandy Hook, and 
sailed down the harbor, through a tropical haze 
which made every object intangible. We rushed 
past all the fashionable watering-places along the 
shore — Seabright, Long Branch, and Oceanport 
— and in the evening we alighted in the small and 
almost unknown village of West Creek. Until 

G discovered it we fancy it was outside of 

all geographical cognizance, but his pictures of 
the vividly green and undulous sedges that lie 
between it and the sea, and of the fishing-boats 
that beat through the marsh-bound channels, 
have given it existence among the frequenters 
of the water-color exhibitions at least. The 
summer tourist has not profaned its early sim- 
plicity, and no summer boarders have taught 
the natives to imitate city manners and city 
dress. It is half rural and half marine. The 
roads are overhung by dense foliage, and the 
gardens are luxuriant in bloom. There are no 
parched grasses or arid sand-hills. All behind 
it are dense woods, farm-lands, and cranberry- 
bogs. But here and there an arm of the creek 
runs in, and we find a sloop undergoing repairs 
beneath an arch of foliage, or a net spread out 
to dry in the meadows, and the air has a salty 
pungency which tells us of the close proximity 
of the sea. Could we reach the top of that lit- 
tle church-steeple, which pierces the uppermost 
boughs of the trees that conceal the rest of the 
building, we should see in the eastward pros- 
pect a verdant plain spreading out to a varying 
breadth, veined by narrow channels and bounded 
by a crisper and bluer expanse of water. Across 
this water is a spit of white sand, on the outer 
edge of which the Atlantic breaks with a rever- 
berant force that it has at few other places on 
the coast. Looking one way, we are in the lieart 
of the country ; looking the other, the ocean fills 
more than half the view. 



114 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



G is recognized at the depot, and asks 

for Bill Pharo. A freckled old man guesses that 
Bill is out with his boat ; a freckled boy, wear- 
ing a hat absurdly disproportionate to the rest 
of hira, says that he is gone over to Barnegat ; a 
freckled girl assures us that she saw him in the 
village less than an hour ago, and, while we 
hesitate between these contradictions, the man 
himself appears and possesses himself of our 
traps without requiring any explanation of our 
plans. There is a good deal of Bill Pharo about 
the population of West Creek ; he is typical of 
average human nature in that village, and a de- 
scription of him applies, in a measure, to all the 
rest. The trousers he wore were of such struc- 
tural peculiarity as to form a new scheme in the 
philosophy of clothes, ceasing to be nether gar- 
ments simply, and extending far above the hips 
to the armpits, under which they were braced 
with a firmness which gave one an idea that the 
rest of the body was suspended from the shoul- 
ders. A few inches more of length, and a pair 
of sleeves added, would have made any other 
article of costume superfluous, except for orna- 
ment. His face was long and brown-red, two 
high cheek-bones pressing against two saucer- 
like, deep-set eyes, with a craggy forehead hang- 
ing over them, and a comical seriousness flashing 
in them. His conversation covered a wide va- 
riety of subjects: it was his opinion that, what 
is now New Jersey, was at one time the bottom 
of the sea; and, in proof thereof, he adduced 
the fact that oyster-shells had been found very 
much farther inland than the present coast-line. 

His occupations were various. Ostensibly a 
fisherman, he turned his hand to many things in 
the course of a year ; and, when the sea would 
not yield a living, he employed himself picking 
cranberries, harvesting salt hay, cutting ice, or 
peddling. When we met him he was idle, and 
was glad to engage himself to us for a cruise 
along the coast. His boat was neither large nor 
stanch, but Bill was a capital sailor, and no 
fears of accident troubled us. 

We glided down the creek between those 
salt meadows, which had the soft luxuriance of 
a baronial lawn, and lay astern in careless hap- 
piness, smoking our pipes, and conscious only of 
the flapping of the sail as it " jibbed " this way 
or that, the rustle of the sedge, the spurt of the 
water as it fell away from the bow, and the 
bright blue of the sky contrasted with the low 
reach of verdure on the marshes. There could 
be no cynicism or morbid imaginings here. If 
young Brown, whose literature reflects the de- 
spondent ghastliness with which he contemplates 
the world, had been with us, even he must have 
found the cup of life becoming sparkling. For 
as the buffets of the world, the unequitableness 



of society, and all that could distress us passed 
away, the warm sunshine pervaded us and stole 
through our veins like some potent elixir that 
dispels all gloom. By and by an increase of 
motion and sound on the water showed us that 
we had debouched from the creek into that gulf 
or strait which, with occasional breaks, lies all 
along the Atlantic coast, from Long Island to 
Cape Fear, between the mainland and an outer 
beach of white and almost verdureless sand. 
The width of this beach changes with nearly 
every winter's storm, which also closes up some 
inlets as it opens others, and the water which it 
incloses aff"ords a safe passage for the smaller 
coasting-vessels that could not safely venture 
outside. The sand is so bleached and glistening 
that it casts up the reflected light with extraor- 
dinary brilliancy, and from a distance at sea a 
peculiar white haze seems to hang over it. The 
trafiic of the coasters is supplemented by fleets 
of fishing-boats and by yachts belonging to the 
many new watering-places which have sprung 
up on the outer beach, for which those who are 
interested ingeniously claim the advantage of 
being not by the seaside but practically at sea. 

The greater size of the waves and freshness 
of the breeze caused our own small vessel to 
dance and pitch with startling liveliness; but 
Bill held on to the sheet and, though he never 
ceased to talk, it was satisfactorily evident that 
his mind was fixed upon its duty. In an hour 
or two we saw long ribs of foam fretting above 
a reef, and the motion changed again from a 
rapid pitch and toss to a more dignified and 
slower though deeper swing. We had passed 
through Little Egg Harbor Inlet, and now stood 
out on the Atlantic itself, which, smooth on the 
surface, was rolling with a slumberous swell. 
We slowly beat southward and fell asleep, with 
our heads sheltered under the bows and our 
bodies exposed to the sun. In the evening we 
put into Atlantic City ; and, after a glance at 
its multifarious gayeties, we gladly returned to 
the quietude of our boat. 

We have not space to record all our move- 
ments during the cruise in detail. We sailed 
now in, now outside of the outer bar; we took 
all that came with absolute ease and content- 
ment. We called at old-fashioned, little fishing 
villages, and at the watering-places on the beach ; 
we chatted with wreckers, lighthouse-keepers, 
and life-saving men. The mornings were some- 
times misty and gray, but every evening the 
sun went down in a lurid blaze of splendor, 
followed by pathetic twilights that made the 
world seem empty. A flock of herons flew 
against the sky of gold and crimson, in which 
the sun had left a sinuous belt of fire along the 
horizon. The dead calm that prevailed made 



HOLIDAYS OFF THE BEATEN^ PATH, 



115 



tbe water like a mirror; and, as the sun fell 
tecloser to the blue line of woods across the salt 
S meadows, the evening-star and a crescent moon 
grew more radiant in the pale, gray-blue east, 
and cast a reflection on the water while it still 
held the imprint of the more passionate orb. 
We were, indeed, alone in the world in these 
moments, and the world was motionless. There 
was a wan, pitiful look upon the meadows which, 
lying in a death-like lull, gave the scene its sali- 
ence, and despite the rosy ardor of the western 
sky. Nature desponded and fell into a sad sleep. 
Sunsets at second-hand are not satisfactory, but 
those that we saw night after night along the 
Jersey coast were so individualized in tlieir con- 
trasted splendor and their melancholy under- 
tones that they really seemed to belong to its 
topography. 

We parted with Bill at Tom's River, and here 
we found that the whole expense of our excur- 
sion had been about three dollars a day apiece. 
Had there been more than two of us, the cost of 
the boat^ro I'cita would of course have been less, 
and had we chosen to sleep aboard, and to have 
found our own provisions, a still further reduc- 
tion would have been possible. But we were 
lazy and disposed to luxuriate ; every night we 
laid up at some tavern, where we had supper and 
breakfast, usually of " planked " blue-fish and 
ham and eggs, the inevitable staples of country 
hospitality. An excellent boat, large enough to 
carry four or five persons, can be chartered for 
twenty dollars or less a week, with the_ services 
of an experienced man, and supposing that the 
party provided themselves with blankets and 
provisions, four persons could thus spend a week 
on our cruising-ground for less than ten dollars 
apiece. 

" What does it cost to keep a yacht? " some 
one asked a rich New-Yorker wlio had every 
reason to be well posted. " Well," he said, 
"some people are extravagant with their yachts, 
but I am economical ; I manage to cover all ex- 
penses with about twenty-eight thousand dollars 
a year." But while yachting in one way is an 
amusement limited to the rich, it can be enjoyed 
in another way by persons of very moderate 
means; and we recall a young man who hired a 
boat for five dollars a week, two dollars added 
to which amount covered all his expenses. He 
slept aboard, and his mess consisted of tea, coffee, 
" hard-tack," salt beef, ham, and whatever fish he 
was fortunate enough to catch. Does not the 
bill of fare attract you, dear reader? Perhaps it 
strikes you unsavorily, because you are pent up 
in the suffocating city, and your appetite needs 
all sorts of delicacies to tempt it ; you are jaded 
and probably dyspeptic. But if you should put 
on a blue-flannel shirt, a pair of strong woolen 



trousers and a broad - brimmed sun - hat, and 
should embark one morning in a stanch sloop 
and sail, as the young man in question did, out 
of New Bedford Harbor toward Marion, with a 
strong breeze fanning you, and the spray com- 
municating its briny flavor to your lips, we 
venture to say that, before you reached the pictu- 
resque little island that stands off the mouth of 
the harbor, you would be yearning with hunger 
for a mug of coffee, one of the hard, brown bis- 
cuits, and a slice of that salt beef, which eight 
hours before repelled you as being no more edible 
than your boots. There are epicures who fast for 
two and three days, that they may resume the 
pleasures of the table with the keen enjoyment 
that surfeit has deprived them of. But no fasting 
is necessary to him who abandons the sedentary 
life of the city or university for these breezes and 
unsullied skies ; the appetite that has been dainty 
and capricious springs up with a craving and 
relish for the simplest foods. Appetite improves, 
of course, with any change of air, but one thing 
to be coupled with our advocacy of these holi- 
days off the beaten path is the change of life, 
which restores and revitalizes the bodily and 
mental forces when neurology has exhausted its 
pharmacopoeia and failed. There is efficacy even 
for invalids in " roughing it," and in expeditions 
in new directions there is a sort of recreation 
which can not be found in familiar haunts. The 
tenants of " Rudder Grange " had misadventures, 
but whoever has read Mr. Stockton's fascinating 
book would no doubt be glad to repeat the expe- 
riences, advantageous and disadvantageous, which 
he so humorously describes. 

There are scores of paths off the beaten track, 
and out of the common knowledge, which a little 
searching will reveal, and which surpass in beauty 
and interest those crowded by summer tourists. 
Over the Alleghanies from Frederick, Maryland, 
into Wheeling, Virginia, extends a fine highway 
that is scarcely ever traveled now, though once 
it bore nearly all the trafiic between the West 
and Southwest and the East. The scenery has a 
grandeur approaching that of the Sierra Nevada, 
and, like that range, it includes ravine, cascade, 
and mountain forms, wooded from the base to 
the summit. Out of the many taverns that 
existed in former times a few remain, not too far 
apart for convenience, and the road, though not 
in the perfect condition it was formerly, is as 
good as country roads usually are. A summer 
ago w^e drove over it from Frederick to beyond 
Cumberland, and at one of the villages on the 
way we discovered an old, roomy, springy coach, 
which, though the varnish on its panels was 
cracked, and all its early magnificence had faded, 
was still fit for travel. We were so delighted 
with our experience that we vowed we would 



116 



APPLETONS' SUMMEPv BOOK. 



repeat the excursion ; and then our companion, 
who was at the ardent age which sees nothing 
unless a petticoat is in the prospect, cried out : 
'^ Yes, we'll come again, and bring two or three 
other fellows and some girls with us; we'll char- 
ter the old coach and drive four-in-hand — that's 
the idea ! " 

If the old coach could be chartered and the 
inside used for commissary purposes — if the ex- 
pedition could be made independent of taverns — 
the drive would probably have a greater charm 
than under more commonplace conditions. There 
would be ample space for tents, provisions, and 
cooking apparatus inside the vehicle; the travel- 
ers could choose their own halting-places, select- 
ing positions desirable for the beauty of the out- 
look — the distances to be made each day might be 
tixed by them. 

But if the conveyance were a buggy, a cov- 
ered wagon, or a " buckboard " ; if dependence 
were placed on the taverns ; and if the number 
of the party was small or large, with or without 
the opposite sex, we believe that tlie old pike 
would afford a holiday that would be remem- 
bered with emphatic pleasure for many years. 

The canoe and bicycle are both means of 
branching out and discovering features that the 
guide-books and the rush of travelers have 
missed. On the country lanes of England the 
latter is met in every direction, speeding with 
its rider through the loveliest landscapes ; and 
with the canoe rivers may be explored up to their 
source in the boscage, or, like the Connecticut, 
followed down between banks of never-failing 
beauty. 

Many other suggestions occur to us, but our 
space is limited and we come at last to an instance 
of how little those who are young and strong 
need be deterred from a holiday by reasons of 
economy. The example is that of six young men 
who spent three weeks in the White Mountains, 
and visited nearly all the famous resorts, at a 
total expense of fifteen dollars apiece, and whose 
experiences have been described in a small book 
by Mr. Frank E. Clark. 

Their point of departure was Center Harbor, 
New Hampshire, where they hired a wagon for 
five dollars, a horse for a dollar a day, and a tent 
for four dollars. Their provisions consisted of a 
barrel of pilot-bread, a keg of pickles, two hams, 
cheese, condensed milk, salt pork, tea, coffee, and 
various condiments, to wliich they added on the 
way fresh eggs and milk, and brook-trout. They 
dressed simply, and on the first day out made 
seventeen miles. A march of twenty miles on 
the second day brought them to North Conway, 
where they pitched their tent in a pine-grove, a 
little to the east of the village, and their next 
camp was made near the Crawford House, three 



miles from which is the famous Willey House that 
survived the avalanche. 

"Is this the old Willey House? " Mr. Clark 
asked a girl standing in the doorway. " Dunno," 
she answered. " What! " continued the gentle- 
man, "do you mean to say you don't know 
whether this is the house that escaped destruc- 
tion in 1826, when all the family were killed?" 
"Dunno," this interesting creature again replied, 
and she was a type of others the travelers met 
on their way. 

Sometimes they also fell in with crusty old 
farmers as irresponsive as she was — men who 
have lived in the mountains for half a century 
without ever standing upon a summit, and who, 
as Mr. Clark says, would mistake Gabriel's trum- 
pet for a fish-horn ! There was another species 
of the genus homo whom they met — the inquisi- 
tive and irresistible Yankee — who pursued a long 
series of questions despite the gruff and mono- 
syllabic answers given : " What might I call 
ye?" "Trade pooty brisk down your way?" 
"What, ain't ye a storekeeper?" "A doctor 
then, perhaps ? " " No ? Du tell ! " " You've 
come a pooty considerable ways, I reckon?" 
" Mor'n a hundred miles, hev yer ? " " Ye must 
live somewhere near Boston then, I calculate ? " 
" Live in the city, du ye ? " " Know Jack 
Styles ? " " Don't ? " " Wahl ! " But these 
characters, instead of being bores, enlivened the 
marches, and added that human interest to them 
which gave the jaunt a part of its charm. 

At the White Mountain House they pitched 
their tent for several days, which were spent in 
various excursions through the neighborhood. 
They climbed Mount Willard and Mount Wash- 
ington, spending a night upon the latter, and 
evading the high tariff of the hotel by obtaining 
the station-master's permission to spread their 
blankets on the floor of the depot. They visited 
Tuckerman's Ravine, and snowballed each other, 
though it was midsummer, and returning to their 
camp at the White Mountain House, they pro- 
ceeded in the direction of the Franconias. Their 
next halt was at the Twin Mountain House, 
which used to offer the unusual attraction of 
" Beecher every Sunday, and dances every even- 
ing," and through the pretty village of Bethle- 
hem they entered the heavily-wooded Franco- 
nias. Here they visited Echo Lake, the Old 
Man of the Mountains, the Flume and the Pool, 
and one day was given to the ascent of Mount 
Lafayette. Instead of returning home by the 
route which they followed in coming, they turned 
to the southwest, and on the second day from 
Franconia Notch they reached the valley of the 
" willow-fringed Connecticut," down which they 
traveled to their homes. 

Their expenses, given by items, were as fol- 



HOW I DINED ON THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS. 



iir 



lows: Horse, at one dollar per day for three 
weeks, $21 ; wagon, $5 ; hard - tack or pilot- 
bread, and other provisions, $22 ; tent and stove 
hire, $4; feed for horse on the way, $12; pro- 
visions bought on the way, $15 ; plates and 
cooking-utensils, $3 ; incidentals, $8 ; total, $90 ; 
which amount, divided among six individuals, 
was fifteen dollars apiece. 

The brief experiences here recorded will, per- 



haps, suggest many other trips to the reader no 
less economical or charming. The country is 
spacious, and, as we have said, there are beauties 
off the beaten path, the discovery of which adds 
the interest of exploration to the pleasure of 
contemplation, while even the paths followed by 
tourists are not unattainable to persons of mod- 
erate means, if the latter are not too proud or 
too feeble to be original. 



HOW I DINED ON THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS. 

By Nugent Robinson. 



A GRILLING day in the month of August, 
1875, found me in Paris without a cen- 
time. My vacation had melted away in Spain 
and with it my money. The few Isabellinas 
saved from Seville " burst up " at San Sabas- 
tian, and, ere I could tear myself from that 
bijou watering-place, my impedimenta were in 
pledge to the surly host of the Fonda del Co- 
razon in the sum of one thousand reals, for 
the use of a very clean bed — the beds in Spain 
are belaced and befringed like altars — very un- 
wholesome food, in which garlic held the pass 
against all comers, and desperately dubious 
drink combining the delicate flavor of beeswax 
with the unholy mawkishness of untanned leath- 
er. It was past six o'clock as I lounged along 
the shady side of the Boulevard des Italiens 
excessively fatigued, ravenously hungry, and 
confoundedly out of sorts. I had been to the 
paste restante (confidently expecting remittances 
— who doesn't expect remittances at the paste 
restante?), but a curly-headed employee, after 
shuffling a number of letters, as if he were about 
to deal a hand at euchre, with due regard to 
the location of the bowers, shook his head nega- 
tively, shrugged his shoulders, expressing an 
avalanche of No's, and, muttering something 
which meant to convey that I might as well have 
saved myself the trouble of applying to him, and 
have saved him the mental worry of replying to 
me, sank languidly into an easy-chair, and pro- 
ceeded to inter himself in the naughtily illumi- 
nated pages of the " Petit Journal pour Rire." 

Yes, I was hungry, hungry in the most vulgar 
acceptation of the term — a hunger that would 
have thrown over a chef-d^ceuvre of Soyer for a 
dish of bauilli, or an idea of Francatelli for a 
plate of bacon and beans; a hunger that would 
have plunged the susceptibilities of Baron Stein- 
may er into the deepest mourning, and have driven 
my Lord Ogleby into a lunatic asylum ! Having 
partaken of some slight refreshment at a period 
which now appeared to have been in the remote 
ages, my inner man, nailing the black flag to the 



mast, was in open mutiny, and Commodore Ap- 
petite threatened to scuttle the ship if his imperi- 
ous terms were not forthwith complied with. 

The position was extremely critical. No hotel 
would harbor me without money or marbles. A 
walking-stick and a pocket-handkerchief could 
scarcely be considered in the light of luggage. 
My watch had been abstracted during a frantic 
struggle to gain admittance to a bull-fight. Ap- 
pearances, too, were dead against me. The mos- 
quitoes, et hac genus omne, had left my visage not 
unlike the interior of an unbaked red-currant 
tart. A Spanish barber had cropped me for a 
fever or a ticket-of -leave ; my hat bore traces of 
not only one but of the four seasons, and might 
have been used as a soup-tureen for its general 
greasiness ; and my garments had come to violent 
grief through the instrumentality of a " some- 
body's darling" who would persist in eating 
woolly bread and gluey jam all over my back 
during the major portion of the journey up. I 
had calculated upon lifting letters, and going 
right through to London, but the shrug of the 
postal Adonis in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau 
shivered my plans into smithereens, leaving me 
high and very dry on the flags of the French 
capital, and in a state of mind and body better 
to be imagined than described. Never did the 
cafes appear so inviting, the menus so seductive, 
the wine-lists so tantalizing. Could it be pos- 
sible that, for the sake of a mere idea, I would 
be refused a dinner? It seemed incredible! 
Money was actually traveling toward me, but 
alas ! my appetite journeyed much more rapidly. 
In Bayswater I wms somebody, here worse than 
nobody — a beggar, an outcast, a coinless counter- 
feit. In London, I could command. In Paris, a 
thin sheet of plate-glass proved as formidable as 
the Great Wall of China. Heavens! to think 
that my club was awaiting me, and grouse soup, 
chicken turbot — The picture was too vivid! 
My inner man whooped and danced a frantic 
war-dance. 

A gifted writer has observed how very unin- 



118 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



teresting even the Boulevard des Italiens must 
be to the man who walks up and down it, in the 
hope of meeting an acquaintance from whom to 
borrow half a crown. How keenly I felt the 
truth of this observation as I stared eagerly at 
every passer-by, in the feeble expectation of drop- 
ping upon somebody who would stand a dinner, 
or the price of one ! 

" Hope springs eternal in the human breast," 
says Mr. Pope, and a slight thrill ran through 
mine as I read the words " English spoken here," 
in brazen letters upon an enormous sheet of plate- 
glass, which stood between me and a dish of 
cutlets delicately breaded, as a lady's face is pow- 
dered — a lobster, and half a dozen piquante dain- 
ties, with a background of rugged melons, and a 
Bacchanalian bower of grapes, tianked by golden- 
necked champagne-bottles coyly cooling them- 
selves in blocks of pellucid ice. 

" I can explain my position here," I reasoned ; 
" tell them who and what I am, give them my 
card, and refer them to the London Directory. 
They must see that I am a gentleman and not a 
Jeremy Diddler. The thing is quite on the cards, 
and a little address will put matters right in a 
trice. Your restaurateur perceives at a glance 
the good money and the bad — it's his business." 

It was a chance, at all events, and who can af- 
ford to lose a chance whose interior clamors for 
food ! Taking heart of grace, I entered a sump- 
tuously mirrored salon, where, alas ! I found my 
seedy appearance reflected about five hundred 
times in as many hundred difterent positions, and 
approaching a very fasliionably attired individual 
who was seated behind a grove of scarlet gera- 
niums, negligently smoking a cigarette, asked if 
he spoke English ? 

"iVbn, m'siewr .' " with a shrug and a twirl 
of his watch-chain. 

" I wish to make some inquiries about dinner." 

"Ah! Gustav f Oustav ! venez ici.''' 

Gustav, who was in attendance upon a swell- 
looking brace of Frenchmen with red ribbons in 
their respective buttonholes (what a prolific plant 
is the Legion cVHonneur !) reluctantly responded 
to the summons, and approached me in a manner 
which clearly bespoke his secret misgivings. 

" You speak English ? " I observed with what 
was intended for a winning smile. 

" Yaas, sure. Vat vill you to vant ? " 

"The fact is, I wish to dine." 

" Dinnare, d la carte ? " 

"I wish to explain to you that — " 

" Dees table disengage," planting a golden 
chair, upholstered in crimson velvet, opposite a 
small table snowed up in spotless damask, dec- 
orated with glittering cutlery and glasses of many 
shapes, and of every color in the rainbow — ay, 
and out of it, too. 



I heartily wished myself once more n])on the 
boulevards. 

" Before I order the dinner, I — " 

" No require ordare. She is prepare " ; and 
Gustav essayed to relieve me of my battered hat 
and travel-stained stick. 

"I wish to mention that before ordering din- 
ner I would like you to understand — " 

" I you understan' perfeck," interposed Gus- 
tav. " Me vos in Angland since tree year. You 
vill to dine. Dinnare is here ver goot." Here 
he shook the goi'geous chair, and presented the 
wine-card at my head in a threatening sort of 
way. 

I saw that to avoid an interview with a gen- 
darme I should come to the point at once. 

" Gustav " — assuming a manner which upon 
some few occasions in my singularly uneventful 
career had proved irresistible — " I want a dinner, 
a tray-bong dinner ; but I have no money paw 
day layong, till to-morrow." 

Gustav recoiled. By a supreme effort he re- 
pressed a shriek. His glance riveted itself upon 
my excoriated visage. Was he counting the mos- 
quito-bites ? 

"I expected to have received money to-day, 
but it has not arrived. It's certain to be here 
demang. I wish to arrange to dine here and I 
will pay to-morrow, and give you a five-franc 
piece for yourself." 

This was artful, and ought to have succeeded. 

'"'• Que voulez-vous, m''sieurV' exclaimed Gus- 
tav, dropping his three-year-old English, and re- 
treating within his French fortifications, whither 
I could not safely follow him. 

I repeated iny request, laying especial stress 
upon the five francs for himself. 

'•'•Qui, m^sieur.^'' This was addressed to one 
of the beribboned Frenchmen, who, by-the-by, 
had not called him at all; then, turning to me — 

" Vous n'avez pas de V argent ? " 

I scrambled up a little hillock of the language, 
and boldly replied from the summit: 

"Pas anjourd^hui.'''' 

Gustav Avinked facetiously, placed his hand 
gently but firmly upon my shoulder, smiled bland- 
ly, pointed to the door, and, bowing low, mur- 
mured the single word " Demainy 

I would have parted with my expected remit- 
tance ten times told to have given him one, just 
one, kick in the region where the tail of his coat 
ought to have pendulated. I shook my fist in his 
face, and told him in good Saxon that he might 
thank his stars the law prevented me from break- 
ing every bone in his contemptible carcass, in ad- 
dition to which the fact of liis being a miserable 
gar$on du cafe placed him on so low a level as 
to preclude the possibility of assailing him save 
through the medium of contempt. 



HOW I DIKED ON THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS. 



119 



"What's the row, Mr. Foxley? " exclaimed a 
voice close to my ear. I turned and beheld to 
my unspeakable rapture a gentleman whom I had 
casually met in London, and one to whom under 
other circumstances I would have given an ex- 
tremely wide berth. But now how altered my 
feelings! What a transition ! From twenty de- 
grees below freezing-point to ninety-tive in the 
shade — from an icy " sir " to a gushing "Jenkins." 
With what sincere pleasure did I wring his hand ! 
With what effusive solicitude did I inquire for 
his health and that of his family, whom I had 
never seen or even heard of! If I had cut him 
over and over again, was that a reason for con- 
tinuing such stupidity now ? If I had pilled him 
at the club — we are swells at the Rhadamanthus 
— that lay between the ballot-box and myself, 
and ballot-boxes tell no tales. If I had been un- 
charitable, this was the moment of compromise. 
Here was my safety-valve, my life-preserver, my 
dinner. No ocean-wrecked mariner espied a sail 
with greater delight than the joy with which I 
encountered the vulgar visage of Mr. Thomas 
Jenkins. He was evidently pleased, much pleased, 
flattered, at my reception of him. It would not 
do to mention the casus belli; so, in reply to 
bis query, I merely observed: "These rascally 
Frenchmen, I have no patience with them. I 
lose my temper live times a day over their cursed 
self-satisfied ignorance ! " 

I took his arm and turned down the boule- 
vard. If anybody had said to me a few hours 
previously that this would have come to pass, I 
would have used a forcible and full - flavored 
negative. Tempora miitantur. 

"Where are you stopping, Jenkins?" 

"Well, I have only just arrived, and haven't 
raade up my mind." 

He hadn't made up his mind. So much the 
better for me ; we could both put up at the same 
hotel, upon his luggage. 

" Where are you hanging out ? " asked Jenkins. 

This was a poser. He was not the class of 
man to whom one could conflde one's troubles. 
If he thought for a moment that I hadn't as 
much money in ray pocket as would jingle on 
a tombstone, he would quietly drop me, and 
trump up a facetious story to be told hereafter 
at my expense, in a set with whom I stood high, 
but haughtily aloof. Born a diplomatist, my in- 
stincts prompted me to do a little Talleyrand 
now. By naming an hotel, he would repair 
thither, and my condition need not be exposed. I 
would be saved an ordeal of a most mortifying 
confusion, and, better still, I would secure my 
dinner. 

"What do you think of the Hotel du Louvre, 
Jenkins? It's very central and extremely com- 
fortable." 



" It's rather dear, isn't it ? " he observed. 

" Well, it's not cheap, but, ' cheap and nasty,' 
you know ; and, after all, the difl'erence of a few 
francs a day between a flrst- and second-class 
hotel pays itself." 

"You're quite right, Mr. Foxley. I'll put up 
with you there, if you've no objection? " 

"Objection, my dear Jenkins? I'm delighted 
at the prospect of having your company ! " 

" Have you dined yet, Mr. Foxley ? " 

Assuming an indifference that I was far from 
feehng, I rephed : 

" Well, no — not yet. It's rather early." 

" By jingo, my stomach thinks that my 
throat's cut! I didn't touch bit, bite, or sup 
since we left London this morning." 

A bold thought, and yet a happy one — a 
master-stroke ! I would invite him to dine at my 
expense. It would not cost me much more than 
the sum I intended to pay at the cq/e, from 
which I had been so unceremoniously ejected. 
After dinner I could borrow a sovereign from 
him, and later on proceed to the hotel. 

"You'll dine with )«?, Jenkins! My foot is 
on my native heath." 

" You're very kind," said Jenkins, " and, if I 
might venture on a suggestion, the sooner we 
dine the better." 

" Let us turn in here. This is the celebrated 
Maison Doree. One of the three best cooks in 
the world operates here. The Cavour at Milan 
possesses one, Delmonico at New York has se- 
cured the second, and the third is to be found 
here." 

" I'm in luck ! " observed Jenkins. 

" And so am I," was my inner thought upon 
entering that celebrated restaurant with the san^/- 
/■/•oiJ peculiar to him who comes into the market 
as a purchaser. " I'll show this fellow that I am 
inside the ropes, and that the men of the Rhada- 
manthus Club know how to dine," and, selecting 
a table commanding the boulevard, I called im- 
periously for the menu. 

It was a source of intense satisfaction to me 
to show off before Jenkins. The fellow would 
brag about this dinner for the next twelve 
months, and of the fact of my having ordered it. 
So I scanned the bill of fare with a critical eye, 
much as a newly fledged apothecary regards an 
illegible prescription, pish'd and pooh'd, shrug- 
ged my shoulders, threw up my eyebrows, and 
betrayed considerable symptoms of mental dis- 
quietude, while endeavoring to guess at the na- 
ture of some of the multifarious and mysteriously 
named dishes, resplendently set forth. My pro- 
nunciation was not of the Faubourg St. Ger- 
main indeed ; it was more of the " Mossoo " and 
"Bolong" school. Nevertheless I made a vig- 
orous onslaught upon several inofl^ensive words, 



120 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



and succeeded at length, by dint of considerable 
shouting and pantomimic gesture, in selecting a 
feed which will be engraven upon my memory 
so long as that useful and necessary article con- 
tinues to exist. 

"What soup do you particularly like in Au- 
gust, Jenkins? " 

" Oh! it's all the same to me," he replied, as 
his experience was bounded by mock-turtle and 
mutton-broth. 

"Z>o name an August soup! " 

" Well, then, mock-turtle " (this after consid- 
erable hesitation). 

" You are jesting, Jenkins ! Mock-turtle in 
August? Why, man, if I were to order it, the 
proprietor would beg of us to leave the Maison 
Doree. To ask for anything out of season here 
is simply a crime, or, what is worse, a blun- 
der." 

" Ox-tail is prime." 

"Pshaw! man. you are not in Cheapside, at 
'Pym's,' or the 'Cheshire Cheese.' Will you 
take potage a la bale de Bisque, or potage d la 
Chewmoutong." 

" The Bay of Biscay by all means," replied 
Jenkins with alacrity. 

" If you will be guided by we, you'll take the 
other." 

" All right. Anything you order is sure to 
be up to the mark. You know what's what." 

Now, when you ask a man to dine, and es- 
pecially when it is your intention to borrow the 
money from him in order to discharge the reck- 
oning, the very least you can do is to order a 
good dinner. Independently of my own feelings 
on the subject, I resolved upon giving Jenkins 
such a banquet as would leave him no chance of 
finding fault with his fare ; on the contrary, his 
food and wine should be of such quantity and 
quality as to make it obligatory upon him to 
lend me the money with a will, and as a per- 
sonal favor to himself. 

" Garsong ! Potage a la Chewmoutong." 

The waiter ticked off a soup which I had not 
named. 

"What fish, Jenkins?" 

"Oh, salmon, of course." 

" Salmon in August. Are you insane, Jen- 
kins? Why, you'll be asking for boiled mutton 
next!" 

" Never mind me," said my abashed guest. 
" I'm not up to this sort of thing. You are." 

"Garsong! Poison." 

"Poisson? Oui, m'sieur," and he ticked off 
what subsequently proved to be a slice of wool- 
ly turbot swimming in buttermilk. 

The entrees which I unluckily ordered were 
chiefly composed of baked cobwebs and potato- 
skins, and in one of them I discovered something 



I that bore a ghastly resemblance to the tail of a 
rat. 

I descended the bill of fare with as much cau- 
tion and gravity as though it were a rickety 
flight of stairs, pausing at each landing and scru- 
tinizing the name of each dish without possessing 
the faintest idea of what the cabalistic inscrip- 
tions meant to convey. Why don't they publish 
a key to their menus? It would save time, 
trouble, and danger. 

"Now, Jenkins," I cried, "you'll get a din- 
ner such as few men know how to order and 
few to enjoy. — Garsong! the wine-list." 

Wine is the gas that puffs out the bill. Sir 
John Falstaff's half-pennyworth of bread was a 
modest item compared with the sack. Yet why 
not come out strong upon this occasion ? Had I 
not just escaped from the jaws, if not of peril, at 
least of intolerable inconvenience ? Champagne 
let it be, and I ordered a bottle to be preceded 
by a pint of sherry. 

The dinner v/as excellent, despite some secret 
misgivings as to the condiments, the wines good, 
the attendance machine-made, the entourage de- 
lightful. In the generosity of my heart I ordered 
a second bottle of the sparkling, and lay back in 
my chair lazily toying with my glass, and watch- 
ing the tiny globules darting to the surface. 

"I say," observed Jenkins, who had eaten 
for three, and whose powers of suction would 
have astonished a snipe — "I say, old chap, let's 
have 'nother bottle." 

" Certainly if you desire it," I replied, although 
his applying for it under the circumstances was 
somewhat indelicate. The knife was at my 
throat, the pistol at my head. If he had asked 
for imperial Tokay or the King of Spain's sherry, 
he should have gotten it. Having summoned the 
waiter, and communicated my desire to him, he 
with considerable politeness gave me to under- 
stand that our consuming the wine at another 
table would greatly oblige, as that which we at 
present occupied had been engaged at an early 
hour by a party which had just entered. At this 
unexpected demand the British lion within me 
growled. When explained to Mr. Thomas Jen- 
kins the noble animal fairly roared. 

" What the d — 1, do you mean, sir," cried my 
exasperated guest, upon whom the champagne 
had produced enlivening effects, " by such infer- 
nal cheek ? If you imagine we are going to give 
this table up to anybody, you are in Queen Street 
off the Square. Let those people dine in that 
corner, it's good enough for them ; but this is our 
table, and by jingo we'll not part with it ! " and he 
banged his mottled and somewhat dirty hand 
among the dessert-plates and enameled glasses. 

The waiter shrugged his shoulders, muttered 
something unintelligible, and withdrew. 



HOW I DINED ON THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS. 



121 



" Did you ever hear of such a thing, Foxley ? " 

" Never." 

" Only imagine a waiter at the Star and Gar- 
ter trying such a dodge on ! "Why, he'd be kicked 
into the Thames! " 

" He was tipped, 1 suppose." 

" Certainly ! I saw that bald-headed cove whis- 
pering, ' You scratch me and I'll scratch you.' 
We'll stop here till midnight, just to spite 
them!" and he glared at the new-comers in a 
defiant and knock-you-down way. 

"It was very politely done, however," I re- 
marked as Jenkins's wrath was upheaving. 

" A tig for their politeness — a set of beggarly 
Mossoo's to displace us f I'd like to see them do 
it, I would ! This waiter won't bring the wine for 
an hour. This is moreof their impertinence. — Gar- 
song! garsong! hi! hi! hi !" and he commenced 
to ring a peal of bells upon every tangible article 
on the table, and to assert his British supremacy 
in a manner that caused me to wince. 

A sort of major-domo came forward, and re- 
quested to be informed in what way he could be 
of service to monsieur. There was a reproof in 
his calmness, impeachment in his politeness. 

" What is the French for wine, Foxley ? " 

" Vang." 

" Doo vang, garsong ! Doo vang, vang, vang ! " 
shouted Jenkins, causing the glasses to perform 
acrobatic feats of a most complicated pattern, as 
he thumped the table. 

Scarcely deigning to notice him, the superin- 
tendent turned to me and explained that the 
wine was coming tont de suite. 

" What is the fellow saying about sweet? " 

" He says the wine is coming immediately." 

"Pshaw! He had time to manufacture it. 
Why, the meanest public-house in London 
wouldn't keep you this way. It's a dodge to get 
the table. 7'm up to them ! I'll dodge them ! " 
and, working himself into a violent state of ex- 
citement, commenced — "Garsong! vang! — gar- 
song ! vang ! " with increased vigor and energy. 

Upon this renewal of hostilities, the parties 
who were dining at the various tables around us 
began to manifest impatience at so unseemly a 
disturbance, and cries of " Silence ! " hissed from 
several quarters at the same moment; while a 
very energetic gentleman, whose hair was cropped 
as closely as my own, imperiously called upon 
the manager to interfere. 

I implored of Jenkins to restrain his indig- 
nation, pointing out to him how very unparlia- 
mentary his conduct would be considered in any 
country, but especially in France, where such 
manifestations were regarded not merely as mis- 
takes but as outrages. 

" Why don't they bring the wine? " he cried. 
"Do you imagine I care one duriip what the 



snail-eating, frog-swallowing duffers think? If 
one of them dare say a word, I'll go up to him 
and shout ' Waterloo ' under his mustache ! Ay, 
Waterloo!" he repeated, addressing himself to 
the crop-headed gentleman ; " and if you don't 
like that, perhaps a little German sausage may be 
of service to you ! " 

My guest was intoxicated, and in his cups 
vulgar. I was heartily ashamed of him, and 
longed for money to cut the whole concern. 
But a cruel and relentless destiny willed it other- 
wise; and like Prometheus I was chained to the 
spot, while the vulture Jenkins gnawed at my 
sensibilities. In a few minutes, during which 
we were the observed of all observers, as the 
table-banging and garsong-howling continued un- 
remittingly, the manager advanced to our table 
and handed me the bill. 

I threw one short, sharp, feverish, electric 
glance at the "demnition total," and my startled 
gaze fell upon fifty-eight francs! I plunged at 
the items — the list was correct. Two dinners, 
twenty-four francs; sherry, five francs; cham- 
pagne, twenty-six francs ; service, three francs. 

Was I insane when ordering such a dinner ? 
Had the emptiness of my stomach caused a vac- 
uum in my head ? A week's board, ay, and lodg- 
ing too, both gone in fifty-eight minutes! Was I 
dreaming ? No, the items spoke for themselves, 
and the total replied for all. 

" Where's the wine ? " hammered Jenkins. 

"Never mind," I replied, seeing that we had 
received our conge., " we'll turn into a snug little 
cafe down the boulevard for brandy-and-water." 

This smote Jenkins in the right place. He 
bounded to his feet, and seizing his hat joyously 
exclaimed, " The very thing ! " and was about to 
dart into the street, when I caught him flying. 

The supreme moment had come. 

Now to ask him for three sovereigns. 

"By the way, Jenkins," I exclaimed, with 
that slippery carelessness which people assume 
when about to borrow money, and as if the long- 
premeditated idea had only just come to the sur- 
face, "I find that I have no money with me. 
Lend me three sovereigns, will you?" 

" I would with the greatest pleasure, old man, 
but I haven't a farthing about me," was his star- 
tling reply. 

" I am in earnest, Jenkins," I said, attempt- 
ing to strain out a sickly laugh, 

"So am I." 

" No money at all ? " 

" Not a shilling. My purse is in my portman- 
teau." 

I never fainted in my life, but I must have 
been very near it at that particular moment. I 
clutched the legs of the table convulsively, and 
made a desperate effort to appear calm. 



122 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



Here was a position. The dinner eaten, and 
no money to pay for it, and, to add to tlie embar- 
rassment, an outraged manager to deal with. 

" This is cursedly awkward, Jenkins! " 

" Not a bit of it. Give 'em your card." 

" Card be hanged ! If it wasn't for your con- 
duct they miglit have taken it." 

" Give 'em your ticker. They'll snap at 
that." 

" I lost it at a bull-fight in Spain." 

Jenkins whistled, and reseated himself. 

" There is nothing for it, Jenkins, and I'm 
really very sorry to trouble you, but I must ask 
you to lend me your watch and — " 

" I haven't one ! " he interposed. 

" No watch ? " 

" I left it at home for Billy ray brother, as I 
intend to buy one here; they are so much better 
and cheaper." 

A cold perspiration burst out all over me. 
Feigning to examine the figures in the bill, my 
thoughts were racking themselves upon the red- 
hot wheel of ways and means. I had sown the 
wind, and this looked uncommonly like the 
whirlwind. Deception ever recoils, and I was 
paid in coin as good as I gave. Gathering my 
ideas together with a mental wrench I exclaimed : 

"Jenkins! take a cab, and go at once to the 
station, open your portmanteau, get at your 
purse, and come back here as fast as ever you 
can. I'll wait for you." 

He looked at me in a puzzled, frightened way. 

" I can not well do that ! " he said. 

"Not do it?" 

" No." 

" Why, might I ask ? what's to prevent you ? " 

"I've got no luggage." 

" What ! " I gasped. 

" Not as much as a pill-box." 

Despair seized upon and shook me. I turned 
fiercely upon my guest. 

" What the devil do you mean, by traveling 
without money or luggage, sir? It's monstrous, 
simply monstrous ! " 

" I will explain, Foxley." 

" Hang your explanations, sir ! " 

" Listen to me. My luggage is coming after 
me. It was to have been sent to Charing Cross 
station by my aunt, at whose house I was stopping, 
but the servant didn't arrive in time although I 
saw her driving up as the train moved oft". I for- 
got that my money was in my portmanteau, 
and all I had with me was the return half of an 
excursion ticket to Paris, which I bought from 
the boots at the Tavistock, the date of which ex- 
pired this very day. So I had to come away by 
that train, or forfeit the ticket." 

The abject despair written in my face so- 
bered Jenkins. He now saw the precipice upon 



which we stood, and peered for a moment into 
its depths. 

" Do you know anybody in Paris? " I asked, 
in a feeble tone. 

"I do!" 

" Who ? " 

'• A man of the name of Smith! " 

" Where does he reside ? " and hope once 
more beamed in upon my shuttered soul. 

Jenkins scratched his rosy head. 

" 1 can't recollect his address." 

" Try." 

" It's no use. I don't think I ever knew it." 

" This is a terrible state of things, Jenkins." 

" Couldn't be much more unpleasant." 

" It's quite likely that the police will be called 
in." 

" I saw the waiter speaking to one just now. 
'Pon my soul, Foxley, I pity you." 

" I pity you^ Jenkins." 

"Oh, never mind me. /didn't order the 
dinner." 

" You are equally implicated with me, Mr. 
Jenkins, let me tell you that, and — " 

" Hold hard, old man," he interposed, a hope- 
ful expression lighting up his features. " I'll tell 
you what can be done, and it's the wonder that 
neither of us thought of it till now. Take a cab, 
go to your hotel, get your money, and come back 
here. I'll wait for you.'' 

Parrot-like, he traveled over my own words. 

With shame I own that for the moment I felt 
inclined to jump at the suggestion, on the grounds 
of self-preservation, and never to come back, 
but happily the better man within me came to 
the rescue. 

Tlie moment had arrived for telling him every- 
thing. 

" The fact of the matter is, Jenkins, I am 
precisely in the same position as yourself. I have 
no hotel." 

" No hotel ! then where are you stopping? " 

"Nowhere?" 

" Nowhere ? " he repeated, mechanically. 
"And where is your luggage? " 

" I have no luggage. I left it in Spain." 

" He left his luggage in Spain ! " groaned Jen- 
kins, thinking aloud. 

" I am waiting for remittances which I expect 
to-morrow morning." 

My guest's chin fell upon his breastbone. 
Once or twice he essayed to speak, but utterance 
failed him. 

" I depended upon yoti, Jenkins, to pull me 
through, which made me so glad to see you." 

" And I depended on you to pull me through, 
which made me so delighted to see yow," he re- 
torted, bitterly. 

" What is to be done, Mr. Jenkins ? " I asked, 



HOW I DINED ON THE BOULEVAKD DES ITALIENS. 



123 



inasmuch as the manager, finding this dramatic 
dialogue, carried on in a language to which he 
was an utter stranger, a little dull, began to ex- 
hibit very decided symptoms of disquietude. 

" Telegraph,"' suggested Jenkins. 

" Where is the money, assuming your sugges- 
tion to be worth anything, which it isn't ? " 

" I forgot that." 

" I thought so." 

By a simultaneous impulse we commenced to 
scrutinize each other's toilet, commencing with 
the shirt-collar, and winding up with the boots. 

" I can't compliment you on the condition of 
your garments," observed Jenkins, gloomily. 

" Tliey were good once, which is more than 
can be said of your shoddy raiment," a howling 
plaid with blood-red stripes across it giving him 
the appearance of a crimped salmon. 

" It would fetch more money than yours at 
my uncle's." 

" What would the coat bring? " 

" About fifteen shillings if my uncle was soft, 
ten if he was hard. The whole suit was handed 
down to me, ready made, for forty-two bob." 

And our dinner-bill was fifty-eight francs. 

The manager, sidling up to me, blandly re- 
quested a settlement. 

I waved him off wildly, and, in order to diplo- 
matize and gain time, asked if he spoke English. 

" Non! " with a terrific shrug, which sent his 
shirt-collar to oomb his back hair, a process which 
it needed sorely. 

" Garsong, parlay Anglay? " 

"Non." 

" Alley ong momong." 

He retired with a very bad grace, evidently 
with an intention of returning at an early oppor- 
tunity. 

" Could the English ambassador do anything 
for us, Foxley? He's bound to stand by Britons 
in distress, and he couldn't be better employed 
than in extricating us from this cursed dilemma." j 

" We'd look very well indeed going up to the 
embassy with such a story ! No, Jenkins, there's 
nothing for it but the police-cell to-night, and to- 
morrow morning we can explain everything to 
the magistrate through an interpreter." 

At this moment the table next to us became j 
occupied by a young and very pretty girl, attired ' 
in the newest of new garments and in the fiercest 
of fierce fashion. The roses upon her cheek and 
the healthy sparkle in her eye would have cried i 
"English ware " in the desert of Sahara. Un- 
buttoning a cream-colored glove of four buttons, | 
she displayed with evident satisfaction the little 
gold ring upon the third finger of her left hand, 
which, from its shine and luster, bespoke not only 
the matron but the bride. She was joined in a 
moment or two by a tall, fair-haired man of 



about five and twenty, possessing an air of inso- 
lent aristo(;racy that, outside of his particular set, 
would cause him to be detested. He was fault- 
lessly attired, and wore his exquisitely fitting gar- 
ments as if he didn't care a cent whether they 
came to grief or not. I looked at Jenkins — Jen- 
kins looked at me. What a pair of vulgar-looking 
counter-jumpers we appeared beside this " thing 
of the purple " ! 

" English," whispered Jenkins. 

" May Fair," I replied. 

" That suit was made by Poole." 

" Or Smallpage." 

" Would he stand fifty-eight francs ? " 

" Hush : " 

" You'll row up this waiter, Georgie," drawled 
the new-comer, addressing the lady. " Your 
French fits better than mine." 

" Always lazy, Fred." 

" Don't be down upon me, or I'll ask you to 
pay the bill." 

She spoke French fluently, and with a charm- 
ing accent. 

" There's nothing for it but to appeal to this 
swell," observed Jenkins. " He's English to the 
backbone, and hang it, he won't see his country- 
men sent to prison for fifty-eight francs." 

There was so much of " No " in the man's 
appearance, that I resolved upon throwing the 
chance away sooner than risk it. Not so with 
Jenkins. He believed so firmly in the tie of 
country — in "Britons strike home" — that, with- 
out any previous intimation to me, he boldly 
plunged in medlas res. 

" I beg your pardon, sir — you're Enghsh, I 
presume? " 

The new-comer slowly faced Jenkins, com- 
menced a survey of his person with the naked 
eye, extracted a small glass from his pocket, 
wiped it carefully, screwed it into the corner of 
his left eye, and drawled — 

"Yaas." 

" So am I. So's my friend here." 

" Indeed ! " 

"This is my card," thrusting it forward, but 
ultimately compelled to lay it upon the table, as 
the other shrank from touching it. " You see 
my name and address." 

"What do you want?" asked the Saxon 
swell, without deigning to cast a glance in the 
direction of the pasteboard, still steadily gazing 
at Jenkins as if he were a wild animal or a cu- 
rious piece of machinery. 

" The fact is, we find ourselves without 
money enough to pay our bill. We've both got 
plenty of it, and — " 

" I'm not the proprietor of this place " — and, 
turning to the lady, " Will you take champagne 
or Moselle, Georgie? " 



124: 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



I pitied Jenkins. He stood as if he had been 
petrified — his mouth still open, his right hand 
advanced, his neck craned into a bow. Stam- 
mering something, he drew himself together and 
collapsed on to a chair. 

The lady possessed more of the milk of human 
kindness than her lord and master, for she apolo- 
getically added : 

" You should explain yourself to the proprie- 
tor. He will surely arrange with you." 

" But I can not, madam," blurted Jenkins. 
" I can not speak French." 

" Does your friend speak the language ? " 

" It's six of one and half a dozen of the 
other. — Why don't you speak out, Foxley?" 

" Foxley is a Cheshire name," she remarked 
inquiringly. 

" We are from Cheshire, near Northwich,'' 
I said. 

" There are the Foxleys of Plumsted Park." 

" Frederick Herbert Foxley is my second 
cousin." 

"The deuce he is! " growled the gentleman, 
tossing off a glass of sherry. 

The lady spoke rapidly to him in an under- 
tone, to which he replied by the single word — 

" Bosh ! " 

" Do you know Mr. Frederick Herbert Fox- 
ley? " she inquired, somewhat anxiously. 

" I never saw him. We are the poor and in- 
significant branch of the family." 

"You do not reside in Cheshire? " 

" No. I live in London." 

"What's your club?" asked the gentleman, 
much as he would demand a cabman's number. 

This was indeed a chance ; this was playing 
into my hand, as my club was a club, and about 
a hundred years old, not a mushroom proprietary 
public-house. To be elected to it, meant twenty 
years in waiting, and the death by extreme old 
age of three sets of proposers and seconders. 
The Crimean war ran me in in seven years. My 
own cousin, the very man of whom we had been 
speaking, was on the books, and likely to remain 



there for several seasons to come. As a man's 
social status is determined by his club, it was 
with no small flutter of pride that I coolly re- 
plied : 

"My club is the Rhadamanthus." 

"The Rhadamanthus in Saint James's Street?" 
he asked in some surprise — as, indeed, he might. 

" The Rhadamanthus. I was not aware of 
the existence of any other than the old rookerj 
in Saint James's Street?" Every man speaks 
disparagingly of his club, and pooh-poohs it — 
the kitchen alone excepted. 

His tone altered at once. 

" Mr. Foxley, will you excuse me if I take 
the liberty of asking you for some proof of this? 
I have a cogent reason for so doing." 

" Here are proofs enough," I exclaimed, pull- 
ing out a bundle of letters which had been for- 
warded to me in Spain by the house steward, 
" and here is my card." 

" And here is mine," he laughed, handing me 
a piece of pasteboard upon which I read, with 
feelings of the most profound astonishment, the 
name and address of my cousin : 

Frederick Herbert Foxley, 

Plumsted Park, 

Cheshire. 

27 Ourson Street, 
May Fair. 



What a laugh we enjoyed over my temporary 
embarrassments as we sat in the courtyard of 
the Grande Hotel later on, sipping our coffee ! 

"If it had not been for my politeness, we 
never would have known you," exclaimed Mrs. 
Foxley. 

" If it had not been for me, we would have 
been in prison this minute," added Jenkins. 

"My dear Jenkins, I owe you much," said I; 
"for, if it had not been for you, I never would 
this day have dined in the Boulevard des Ital- 



TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 



By Charles Egbert Craddock. 



SILAS HOBBS sat on the fence. He slowly 
turned the quid of tobacco in his cheek, 
and lifting up his voice spoke with an oracular 
drawl : 

" Ef he kin take the certif'cate it's the mos' 
68 he kin do. He ain't never a-goin' ter git no 
prerai-«m in this life. Sure's ye're a born sin- 
ner." 



And he relapsed into silence. His long legs 
dangled dejectedly among the roadside weeds; 
his brown jean trousers, that had despaired of 
ever reaching his ankles, were ornamented here 
and there with ill-adjusted patches, and his loose- 
fitting coat was out at the elbows. An old white 
felt hat drooped over his eyes, which were fixed 
absently on certain distant blue mountain-ranges, 



TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 



125 



melting tenderly into the blue of the noonday 
sky, and framing an exquisite mosaic of poly- 
tinted iields in the valley, far, far below the grim 
gray crag on which his little home was perched. 

Despite his long legs he was a light weight, or 
he would not have chosen as his favorite seat so 
rickety a fence. His interlocutor, a heavier man, 
apparently had some doubts, for he leaned only 
slightly against one of the projecting rails as he 
whittled a pine stick, and with every movement 
the frail structure trembled. The house, or rather 
the log-cabin, seemed as rickety as the fence. 
The little front porch had lost a plank here and 
there in the flooring — perhaps on some cold win- 
ter night when Silas Hobbs's energy was not suffi- 
ciently exuberant to convey him to the wood-pile ; 
the slender posts that upheld its roof seemed 
hardly strong enough to withstand the weight 
of the luxuriant vines with their wealth of 
golden gourds which had clambered far over the 
moss-grown shingles; the windows had fewer 
panes of glass than rags; and the chimney, built 
of clay and sticks, leaned portentously away from 
the house. The open door displayed a rough, 
uncovered floor; a few old rush-bottomed chairs; 
a bedstead with a patch-work calico quilt, the 
mattress swagging in the center and showing the 
badly arranged cords below ; strings of bright- 
red pepper hanging from the dark rafters; an 
endless perspective of tow-headed, grave-faced, 
barefooted children, and, occupying almost one 
side of the room, a broad, deep, old-fashioned 
fireplace, where winter and summer a lazy fire 
burned under a lazy pot. 

Such was the altar of Mr. Hobbs's lares and 
penates. Quite contented with it all, he sat out- 
aide on the fence, sheltered from the hot Septem- 
ber sun by the low-hauging branches of the 
chestnut-oak trees, and drawlingly talked to his 
neighbor about the coming county fair. 

Notwithstanding the gaunt poverty of the 
aspect of the place and the evident sloth of its 
master, it was characterized by a scrupulous 
cleanliness strangely at variance with its forlorn 
deficiencies. The rough floor was not only swept 
but scoured ; the dark rafters, whence depended 
the flaming banners of the red pepper, harbored 
no cobwebs; the grave faces of the white-haired 
children bore no more dirt than was consistent 
with their recent occupation of making mud-pies ; 
and the sedate, bald-headed baby, lying silent but 
wide-awake in an uncouth wooden cradle, was as 
clean as clear spring-water and yellow soap could 
make it. Mrs. Hobbs herself, seen through the 
vista of opposite open doors, energetically rub- 
bing the coarse wet clothes upon the resonant 
washboard, seemed neat enough in her blue-and- 
white checked homespun dress, and with her 
scanty gray-streaked hair drawn smoothly back 



from her deeply wrinkled brow into a tidy little 
knot on the top of her head. 

Spare and gaunt she was, and with many lines 
in her prematurely old face. Perhaps they told 
of the hard fight her brave spirit waged against 
the stern ordering of her life ; of the struggles 
with squalor — inevitable concomitant of poverty, 
and to keep together the souls and bodies of 
those numberless children, with no more efficient 
assistance than could be wrung from her reluc- 
tant husband in the short intervals when he did 
not sit on the fence. She managed as well as 
she could ; there was an abundance of fine fruit 
in that low line of foliage behind the house — 
but everybody on Old Bear Mountain had fine 
fruit. Something rarer, she had good vege- 
tables — the planting and hoeing her own work 
and her daughter's ; an occasional shallow furrow 
representing the contribution of her husband's 
plow. The althea-bushes and the branches of 
the laurel sheltered a goodly number of roosting 
hens in these September nights ; and to the pond, 
which had been formed by damming the waters 
of the spring branch in the hollow across the 
road, was moving even now a stately procession 
of geese in single file. These simple belongings 
were the trophies of a gallant battle against 
unalterable conditions and the dragging, dispirit- 
ing clog of her husband's inertia. 

His inner life — does it seem hard to realize 
that in the uncouth figure on the fence concen- 
ter the complex, incomprehensible, ever-shifting 
emotions of that surging flood of inner life 
which, after all, is so much stronger, and deeper, 
and broader than the material? Here, too, beats 
the hot heart of humanity — beats with no mea- 
sured throb. He had his hopes, his pleasure, his 
pain, like those of a higher culture, differing only 
in object, and something perhaps in degree. His 
disappointments, bitter and lasting ; his triumphs, 
lew and sordid; his single aspiration — to take 
the premium offered by the directors of the 
Kildeer County Fair for the best rider. 

This incongruous and unpromising ambition 
had sprung up in this wise : Between the coun- 
try people of Kildeer County and the citizens of 
the village of "Woodville, the county-seat, existed 
a bitter and deeply-rooted animosity manifesting 
itself at conventions, elections for the Legislature, 
etc., the rural population voting as a unit against 
the town's candidate. On all occasions of public 
meetings there was a struggle to crush any invid- 
ious distinction against the "country boys," es- 
pecially at the annual fair. Here to the rustics 
of Kildeer County came the tug of war. The 
country population was more numerous, and, 
when it could be used as a suff'rage-engine, all- 
powerful ; but the region immediately adjacent 
to the town was far more fertile. On those fine 



126 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



meadows grazed the graceful Jersey ; there were 
bred sundry long-tailed colts with long-tailed ped- 
igrees ; there greedy Berkshires fattened them- 
selves to abnormal proportions ; and the merinos 
could hardly walk, for the weight of their own 
rich wardrobes. The well-to-do farmers of this 
section were hand-in-glove with the town's peo- 
ple; they drove their trotters in every day or so 
to get their mail, to chat with their cronies, to 
attend to their affairs in court, to sell or to buy 
— their pleasures centered in tlie town, and they 
turned the cold shoulder upon the country, which 
supported them, and gave their influence to 
Woodville, accounting themselves au integral 
part of it. Thus, at the fairs the town claimed 
the honor and glory. The blue ribbon decorated 
cattle and horses bred within ten miles of the 
flaunting flag on the judges' stand, and the foam- 
ing mountain-torrents and the placid stream in 
the valley beheld no cerulean hues save those of 
the sky which they reflected. 

The premium offered this year for the best 
rider was, as it happened, a new feature, and ex- 
cited especial interest. The country's blood was 
up. Here was something for which it could fairly 
compete, with none of the disadvantages of the 
false position in which it was placed. Hence a 
prosperous landed proprietor, the leader of the 
rural faction, dwelling midway between the 
town and the range of mountains that bounded 
the county on the north and west, bethought 
himself one day of Silas Hobbs, whose famous 
riding had been the feature of a certain dashing 
cavalry - charge — once famous, too — forgotten 
now by all but the men who, for the first and 
only time in their existence, penetrated in those 
war-days the blue Alleghany hills fencing in their 
county from the outer world, and looked upon 
the alien life beyond that wooded barrier. The 
experience of those four years, submerged in the 
whirling rush of events elsewhere, survives in 
these eventless regions in a dreamy, dispassionate 
sort of longevity. And Silas Hobbs's feat of rid- 
ing stolidly — one could hardly say bravely — up a 
sheer precipice to a flame-belching battery, came 
suddenly into the landed magnate's recollection 
with the gentle vapors and soothing aroma of a 
meditative after-dinner pipe. Feeling " the future 
in the instant," and quivering with party-spirit, 
S(juire Goodlet sent for Hobbs and oflTered to 
lend him the best horse on the place, and a sad- 
dle and bridle, if he would go down to Woodville 
and beat those town fellows out on their own 
ground. 

No misgivings had Silas. The inordinate 
personal pride characteristic of the mountaineer 
precluded his feeling the shrinking pain other 
men would have suffered at the prospect of be- 
ing presented, a sorry contrast, among the well- 



clad, well-to-do burgher class, to compete in a 
public contest. He did not appreciate the differ- 
ence — he thought himself as good as the best. 

And to-day, complacent enough, he sat upon 
the rickety fence at home, dangling his low-spir- 
ited jean legs, and oi'acularly disparaging the 
equestrian accomplishments of the town's noted 
champion. 

"I dunno — I dunno," said his j^oung com- 
panion, doubtfully. " Hackett sets mighty firm 
onto his saddle. He's ez straight ez any shingle, 
an' ez tough ez.a pine-knot. He come up hyar 
las' summer — war it las' summer, now ? No, 
'twar summer afore las' — with some o' them 
other Woodville folks, a-fox-huntin', an' a-deer- 
huntin', an' one thing an' 'nother. I seen 'em 
a time or two in the woods. An' he kin ride 
jes' ez good 'mongst the gullies and bowlders 
like ez ef he had been born in the hills. He 
ain't a-goin' ter be beat easy." 

"It don't make no differ," retorted Silas. 
" He'll never git no premi-wm. The certif 'cate's 
good a-plenty fur what ridin' he kin do." 

Doubt was still expressed in the face of the 
young man, but he said no more, and, after a few 
minutes' silence, Mr. Hobbs, perhaps not relish- 
ing his visitor's want of appreciation, dismounted, 
so to speak, from the fence, and slouched off 
slowly up the road. 

Jacob Dicey still stood leaning against the 
rails and whittling his pine stick, in no wise an- 
gered or dismayed by his host's unceremonious 
departure, for social etiquette is not very rigid 
on Old Bear Mountain. His suit of brown jean, 
which is the universal wear in the hills, only dif- 
fered from that incasing the lank frame of Silas 
Hobbs in tliat it was well filled by a symmetrical 
and finely-developed figure, and displayed, besides 
the ornaments of patches, sundry deep grass-stains 
about the knees. Not that he was pious enough 
to spend much time in the lowly attitude of prayer, 
unless, indeed, Diana might be accounted the god- 
dess of his worship. The green juice was pressed 
out when kneeling, hidden in some leafy, grassy 
nook, he heard the infrequent cry of the wild 
turkey, or his large, intent blue eyes caught a 
glimpse of the stately branches of an antlered 
stag, moving majestically in the alternate sheen 
of the sunlight and shadow of the overhanging 
crags, or while his deft hunter's hands dragged 
him by slow, noiseless degrees, through the ferns 
and tufts of rank weeds, to the water's edge, that 
he might catch a shot at the feeding wood-duck. 
A leather belt around his waist supported his 
powder-horn — for his accoutrements were exact- 
ly such as might have been borne a hundred years 
ago by a hunter of Old Bear Mountain — and his 
gun leaned against the trunk of a chestnut-oak. 

Still he stood outside of the fence, aimlessly 



TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 



127 



lounging, it seemed, although there was a look on 
his face of a half-suppressed expectancy, which 
rendered the immobile features less statuesque 
than was their wont — an expectancy that showed 
itself in the furtive lifting of his eyelids now and 
then, enabling him to survey the doorway with- 
out turning his head. Suddenly his face reas- 
sumed its habitual, inexpressive mask of immo- 
bility, and the furtive eyes were persistently 
downcast. 

A flare of color, and Cynthia Ilobbs was 
standing in the doorway, leaning against its 
frame. She was robed, like September, in a 
brilliant orange. The material and make were of 
the meanest, but there was a certain appropriate- 
ness in the color with her slumberous, dark eyes 
and the curling tendrils of brown hair which fell 
upon her forehead and were clustered together 
at the back of her neck. No cutfs and no collar 
could this costume boast, but she had shown the 
inclination to finery, characteristic of her age 
and sex, by wearing around her throat, where 
the orange of her dress met the creamy tint of 
her skin, a row of large, black beads, threaded 
upon a shoe-string in default of an elastic, the 
brass ends flaunting brazenly enough among them. 
She held in her hand a string of red peppei's, to 
which she was adding some newly-gathered pods. 
A slow job Cynthia seemed to make of it. 

She took no more notice of the man under the 
tree than he accorded to her. There they stood, 
within twelve feet of each other, in utter silence, 
and, to all appearance, each entirely unconscious 
of the other's existence — he, whittling his pine 
stick; she, slowly, slowly stringing the pods of 
red peppers. 

There was something almost portentous in the 
gravity and sobriety of demeanor of this girl of 
seventeen ; but, indeed, a sedate i)ropriety of man- 
ner is noticeable in all these mountain women, 
young and old. Cynthia, however, manifested 
less interest in the young man than her own 
grandmother might have shown. 

He was constrained to speak first. " Cyn- 
thy — " he said at length, without raising his eyes 
or turning his head. She did not answer ; but he 
knew without looking that she had fixed those 
slumberous, brown eyes upon him, waiting for 
him to go on. "Cynthy," he said again, with a 
hesitating, uneasy manner — then, with an awk- 
ward attempt at raillery — "ain't yer never 
a-thinkin' 'bout a-gittin' married? " 

He cast a laughing glance toward her, and 
looked down quickly at his clasp-knife and the 
stick he was whittling. It was growing very 
slender now. 

Cynthia's serious face relaxed its gravity. 
" Ye're foolish, Jacob," she said, laughing. After 
stringing on another pepper-pod with great delib- 



eration, she continued: "Ef 1 war a-studyin' 
'bout a-gittin' married, thar ain't nobody round 
'bout hyar ez I'd hev." And she added another 
pod to the flaming red string, so bright against 
the orange of her dress. 

That stick could not long escape annihilation. 
The clasp-knife moved vigorously through its 
fibers, and accented certain arbitrary clauses in 
its owner's retort. "Yer talk like," he said, his 
face as monotonous in its expression as if every 
line was cut in some tenderly-tinted marble — 
"yer talk like — yer thought ez how I — war 
a-goin' ter ax yer — ter marry me. I ain't though, 
nuther." 

The stick was a shaving. It fell among the 
weeds. The young hunter shut his clasp-knife 
with a snap, shouldered his gun, and, without a 
word of adieu on either side, the conference 
terminated, and he walked off down the white, 
sandy road. 

Cynthia stood watching him until the laurel- 
bushes hid him from sight; then, sliding from 
the door-frame to the step, she sat motionless, a 
bright-hued mass of red and orange, her slumber- 
ous, deep eyes resting on the leaves that had 
closed upon him. 

She was the central figure of a still landscape. 
The mid-day sunshine fell in vertical effulgence 
upon it; the homely, dun-colored shadows had 
been running away all the morning, as if shirking 
the contrast with the splendors of the golden 
light, until nothing was left of them except a 
dark circle beneath the wide-spreading trees; 
the whole world now seemed quite motionless, 
so slowly did it turn from the noonday skies to 
the great, red west, waiting for it somewhere 
below the horizon. No breath of wind stirred 
the leaves, or rippled the surface of the little 
pond. The lethargy of the hour had descended 
even upon the towering pine-trees, growing on 
the precipitous slope of the mountain, and show- 
ing their topmost plumes just above the frowning, 
gray crag — their melancholy song was hushed. 
The silent masses of dazzling white clouds were 
poised motionless in the ambient air, high above 
the valley, and the misty expanse of the distant, 
wooded ranges. 

A lazy, lazy day, and very, very warm. The 
birds had much ado to find sheltering shady 
nooks where they might escape the glare and the 
heat ; their gay carols were out of season, and 
they blinked and nodded under their leafy um- 
brellas, and fanned themselves with their wings, 
and twittered disapproval of the weather. " Hot, 
hot, red-hot! " said the birds — "broiling hot! " 

Now and then an aoorn fell from among the 
serrated chestnut-leaves, striking upon the fence 
with a sounding thwack, and rebounding in the 
weeds. Those chestnut-oaks always seem to un- 



128 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



accustomed eyes the creation of Nature in a fit 
of mental aberration — useful freak ! the moun- 
tain swine fatten themselves on the plenteous 
mast, and the bark is highly esteemed at the tan- 
yard. 

A large cat was lying at length on the floor 
of the little porch, watching with drowsy, half- 
closed eyes the assembled birds in the tree. But 
she seemed to have relinquished the pleasures of 
the chase until the mercury should fall. " Tou- 
jours perdrix ! " quoted the cat. 

Close in to the muddiest side of the pond over 
there, which was all silver and blue with the re- 
flection of the great masses of white clouds, and 
the deep azure sky, a fleet of shining, snowy 
geese was moored, perfectly motionless too. No 
circumnavigation for them tljis hot day. 

And Cynthia's dark-brown eyes, fixed upon 
the leafy vista of the road, were as slumberous 
as the noontide sunshine. 

" Cynthy ! whar is the gal? " said poor Mrs. 
Hobbs, as she came around the house to hang out 
the ragged clotlies on the althea-bushes and the 
rickety fence. " Cynthy, is yer a-goin' ter sit 
thar in the door all day, an' that thar pot a-bilin' 
all the stren'th out 'n that thar cabbige an' roas' 
in'-ears ? Dish up dinner, child, an' don't be so 
slow an' slack-twisted like yer par." 

Great merriment there was, to be sure, at the 
Kildeer Fair-grounds, situated on the outskirts 
of Woodville, when it became known to the con- 
vulsed town faction that the gawky Silas Hobbs 
intended to compete for the premium to be award- 
ed to the best and most graceful rider. The con- 
tests of the week had as usual resulted in Wood- 
ville's favor ; this was the last day of the fair, 
and the defeated country population anxiously 
but still hopefully awaited its notable event. 

A warm sun shone ; a brisk autumnal breeze 
waved tlie flag flying from tfie judges' stand ; a 
brass-band in the upper story of that structure 
thrilled the air with the vibrations of popular 
waltzes and marches, somewhat marred now and 
then by mysteriously discordant brass tones; the 
judges, portly, red-faced, middle-aged gentlemen, 
sat below in cane-bottom chairs critically a-tilt 
on the hind-legs. The rough, wooden, circular 
edifice, a bold satire on the stately Roman am- 
phitheatre, was filled with the rosy rural faces of 
the denizens of Woodville and the country peo- 
ple of Kildeer County; and within the charmed 
inclosure the competitors for the saddle and bridle 
to be awarded to the best rider, were just now 
entering, ready mounted, from a door beneath 
the tiers of seats, and were slowly making the 
tour of the circle around the judges' stand. One 
by one they came, with a certain nonchalant 
pride of demeanor, conscious of an effort to dis- 



play themselves and their horses to the greatest 
advantage, and yet a little ashamed of the con- 
sciousness. For the most part they were young 
men, prosperous-looking, and clad according to 
the requirements of fashion which prevailed in 
this little town on the mountain-bench. Shut in 
though it was from the pomps and vanities of the 
world, by the encircling chains of blue ranges, 
and the bending sky which rested upon their 
summits, the frivolity of the mode, distorted and 
belated, found its way and ruled with imperative 
rigor. Good riders they were undoubtedly, ac- 
customed to the saddle almost from infancy, and 
well mounted. A certain air of gallantry, always 
characteristic of an athletic horseman, commend- 
ed these equestrian figures to the eye as they 

[ slowly circled about. Still they came — eight — 
nine — ten — the eleventh, the long, lank frame of 

I Silas Hobbs mounted on Squire Goodlet's "John 

I Barleycorn." 

I The horsemen received this ungainly addition 

j to their party with polite composure, and the 
genteel element of the spectators was silent too 
from the force of good breeding and good feel- 
ing; but the Great Unwashed, always critically 
a-loose in a crowd, shouted and screamed with 
derisive hilarity. What they were laughing at, 
Silas Hobbs never knew. Grave and stolid, but 
as complacent as the best, he too made the usual 
circuit with his ill-fitting jean suit, his slouching 
old felt hat, and his long, gaunt figure. But he 
sat the spirited " John Barleycorn " as if he were 
a part of the steed, and held up his head with 
unwonted dignity, inspired perhaps by the state- 
ly attitudes of the horse, which were the results 
of no training nor compelling reins, but the in- 
stinct transmitted through a long line of high- 
lieaded ancestry. Of a fine old family was " John 
Barleycorn." 

"Take care, my friends," said the annoyed 
Squire Goodlet to a group of stamping, yelling, 
young blackguards on the outskirts of the crowd, 
who were proceeding to offer, with no takers, 
fantastic bets against the candidate of the coun- 
try faction. "You may find Hobbs is a singed 
cat — better than he looks." 

A deeper sensation was in store for the spec- 
tators. Before Hobbs's appearance most of them 
had heard of his intention to compete, but the 
feeling was one of unmixed astonishment when 
entry No. 12 rode into the arena, and, on the 
part of the country people, this surprise was 
supplemented by an intense indignation. The 
twelfth man was Jacob Dicey. As he was a 
" mounting boy," one would imagine that, if vic- 
tory should crown his efforts, the rural faction 
ought to feel the elation of success, but the pre- 
vailing sentiment toward him was that which 
every well-conducted mind must entertain con- 



TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 



129 



cerning the ill-conditioned individual who runs 
against the nominee. Notwithstanding the fact 
that Dicey was a notable rider, too, and well 
calculated to try the mettle of the town's cham- 
pion, there arose from the excited countrymen 
a keen, bitter, and outraged cry of "Take him 
out! " So strongly does the partisan heart pul- 
sate to the interests of the nominee ! This fran- 
tic petition had no effect on the interloper. A 
man who has inherited half a dozen violent quar- 
rels, any one of which may at any moment burst 
into a vendetta — inheriting little else — is not 
easily dismayed by the disapjirobation of either 
friend or foe. His statuesque features, shaded 
by the drooping brim of his old, black hat, were 
as calm as ever ; his slow, blue eyes did not, for 
one moment, rest upon the excited scene about 
him, so unspeakably new to his scanty experi- 
ence ; his tine figure showed to great advantage 
on horseback, despite his uncouth, coarse garb; 
and, as far as the interests of the picturesque 
control us, the mountaineer, in his brown jean, 
was more acceptable than those exponents of 
Woodville fashions about him who, in solid fact, 
were immeasurably his superiors in station, edu- 
cation, and breeding. He was mounted upon a 
sturdy, brown mare of obscure origin, but good- 
looking, clean-built, sure-footed, and with the 
blended charm of spirit and docility ; she repre- 
sented his whole estate, except his gun and his 
lean, old deer-hound, that had accompanied him 
to the fair, and was even now improving the 
shining hour by quarreling over a bone outside 
of the grounds with other people's handsomer 
dogs. 

The judges were exacting. That delightful 
sense of supremacy incident upon a little brief 
authority makes hard drivers of the best of us — 
we pit the mettle of our muscles against the 
mettle of the steed, and hang on to the reins to 
the last lingering gasp of our ability. The riders 
were ordered to gallop to the right — and around 
they went. To the left — and there was the 
spectacle of the swiftly-circling mounted figures, 
all leaning close to the ground as if another 
round would fling them upon it. They were re- 
quired to draw up in a line, and to dismount ; 
tiien to mount, and again to alight. Those 
whom these manoeuvres proved inferior were 
dismissed at once, and the circle was reduced to 
eight. An exchange of horses was commanded ; 
and once more the riding, fast and slow, left and 
right, the mounting and dismounting were re- 
peated, and the criticism of the judges mowed 
the number down to four. 

Free speech is conceded by all right-thinking 
people to be a blessing. It is often a balm. 
Outside of the building the defeated aspirants 
consigned, with great fervor and volubility, all 

9 



the judicial magnates to that torrid region un- 
known to polite geographical works ; and George 
Jones, rising in his stirrups, swore that he would 
be "dad -burned if them judges knew which 
e-end of a horse a rider oughter face — a reg'lar 
lay-out o' darned fools they air — or I'm a pelican 
of the wilderness! " This no one could suppose 
George Jones to be ; the alternative was evident. 
Tlie other vanquished competitors were afforded 
much comfort from his outspoken views ; they 
acquiesced with cordial profanity in their com- 
rade's sentiments, and, after hitching their steeds, 
found as potent consolation in taking a drink all 
round. 

Of the four horsemen remaining in the ring, 
two were Silas Hobbs and Jacob Dicey. An- 
other round left only the mountaineers and Tip 
Hackett, the man whom Jacob had pronounced 
a formidable rival. The circling about, the 
mounting and dismounting, the exchange of 
horses were several times repeated without any 
apparent result, and excitement rose to fever- 
heat. 

The premium and certificate lay between the 
three men. The town faction trembled at the 
thought that the substantial award of the saddle 
and bridle, with the decoration of the blue rib- 
bon, and the intangible but still precious second- 
ary glory of the certificate and the red ribbon, 
might be given to the two mountaineers, leaving 
the crack rider of Woodville in an ignominious 
lurch ; while the country party feared Hobbs's 
defeat by Hackett rather less than that Silas 
would be required to relinquish the premium to 
the interloper Dicey, for the young hunter's 
riding had stricken a pang of prophetic terror to 
more than one partisan rustic's heart. In the 
midst of the perplexing doubt, which tried the 
judges' minds, came the hour for dinner, and 
the decision was postponed until after that meal. 

The riders left the arena, and the crowd trans- 
ferred its attention to unburdening hampers, or to 
jostling each other in the dining-hall. There were 
humbler baskets of refreshments belonging to a 
different class, and sometimes among the " moun- 
ting folks " would be produced a "tickler " filled 
with a strong article of whiskey, made nobody 
knew how nor asked where. Those minions of 
fortune who dwelt in Woodville and the immedi- 
ately adjacent region slaked their thirst from time 
to time with that antique beverage known to the 
favorite imbibers as old Bourbon, which was 
poured into tumblers and measured with large, 
indulgent fingers. 

Everybody was eating dinner but Cynthia 
Hobbs. The intense excitement of the day, the 
novel sights and sounds utterly undreamed of in 
her former life, .the abruptly-struck chords of 
new emotions, hitherto all unstrung, and sud- 



130 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



denly set vibrating within her, had dulled her 
relish for the mid-day meal ; and while the other 
members of the family had repaired to the shade 
of a tree outside the grounds to enjoy that refec- 
tion, she still stood leaning against one of the 
large pillars which supported the roof of the am- 
phitlieatre, still gazing about the half-deserted 
building, with the smoldering fires of her slum- 
berous eyes newly kindled. 

To other eyes and ears it might not have 
seemed a scene of tumultuous metropolitan life 
— with the murmuring trees close at hand dap- 
pling the floor with sycamore-shadows, the fields 
of Indian corn across the road, the exuberant 
rush of waters down the slope just beyond, the 
handful of rustics who had intently watched the 
events of the day — but to Cynthia Hobbs the ex- 
citement of crowd, and movement, and noise 
could no further go. 

By the natural force of gravitation, Jacob 
Dicey presently was walking slowly and appar- 
ently aimlessly around to where she was stand- 
ing. He said nothing, however, when he was 
beside her, and she seemed entirely unconscious 
of his presence. Her orange dress was as stiff as 
a board, and as clean as her strong, young arms 
could make it; at her throat were the shining 
black beads; on her head she wore a limp, yel- 
low - calico sunbonnet, which hung down over 
her eyes, and almost obscured her countenance. 
To this article, and her attachment to wearing it, 
she perhaps owed the singular pui'ity and trans- 
parency of her complexion, as mucli as to the 
mountain air, and the scanty and chiefly vegeta- 
ble fare of her father's table. She wore it con- 
stantly, notwithstanding it operated almost as a 
mask, rendering her more easily recognizable to 
their few neighbors by her flaring attire, than by 
her features, and obstructing from her own view 
all surrounding scenery, so that she could hardly 
see the cow, which so much of her time she was 
slowly poking after. 

She spoke unexpectedly, and without any 
other symptom that she knew of the young hunt- 
er's proximity. "I never thought, Jacob, ez 
how yer would hev come down hyar, all the way 
from the mountings to ride agin my par, an' beat 
him out'n that thar saddle an' bridle." 

" Yer won't hev nothin' ter say ter me," re- 
torted Jacob, sourly. 

A long silence ensued. 

Then he resumed didactically, but with some 
irrelevancy, "I tole yer t'other day ez how yer 
war old enough ter be a-studyin' 'bout gittin' 
married." 

"They don't think nothin' of yer ter our 
house, Jacob. Par's always a-jowin' at yer." 
Cynthia's candor certainly could not be called in 
question. 



The young hunter replied with some natural 
irritation : " He had better not let me hear him, 
ef he wants to keep whole bones inside his skin. 
He better not tell me, nuther." 

" He don't keer enough 'bout yer, Jacob, ter 
tell yer. He don't think nothin' of yer." 

Love is popularly supposed to dull the mental 
faculties. It developed in Jacob Dicey sudden 
strategic abilities. 

"Thar is them ez does," he said, diplomati- 
cally. 

Cynthia spoke promptly and with more vi- 
vacity than usual, but in her customary drawl and 
apparently utterly irrelevantly : 

" I never in all my days see no sech red-head- 
ed gal ez that thar Becky Snipes. She's the red- 
headedest gal ever I see." And Cynthia once 
more was silent. 

Jacob resumed, also irrelevantly : 

" When I goes a-huntin' up yander ter Pine 
Lick, they is mighty perlite ter me. They ain't 
never done nothin' agin me, ez I knows on." 
Then after a pause of deep cogitation, he added, 
" Nor hev they said nothin' agin me, nuther." 

Cynthia took up her side of the dialogue, if 
dialogue it could be called, with wonted irrele- 
vancy : "That thar Becky Snipes, she's got the 
freckledest face— ez freckled ez any turkey-aig" 
(with an indescribable drawl on the last word). 

" They ain't done nothin' agin me," reiter- 
ated Jacob, astutely, " nor said nothin' nuther — 
none of 'em." 

Cynthia looked hard across the amphitheatre 
at the distant Alleghany hills shimmering in the 
hazy September sunlight — so ineffably beautiful, 
so delicately blue, that they might have seemed 
the ideal scenery of some impossibly lovely ideal 
world. Perhaps she was wondering what the 
unconscious Becky Snipes, far away in those 
dark woods about Pine Lick, had secured in this 
life besides her freckled face. Was this the syl- 
van deity of the young hunter's adoration? 

Cynthia took off her sun-bonnet to use it for a 
fan. Perhaps it was well for lier that she did so 
at this moment ; it had so entirely concealed her 
head that her hair might have been the color of 
Becky Snipes's, and no one the wiser. The dark- 
brown tendrils curled delicately on her creamy 
foreliead ; the excitement of the day had flushed 
her pale cheeks with an unwonted glow ; her 
eyes were alight with their newly-kindled fires; 
the clinging curtain of her bonnet had concealed 
the sloping curves of her shoulders — altogether 
she was attractive enough, despite the flare of 
her orange dress, and especially attractive to the 
untutored eyes of Jacob Dicey. He relented 
suddenly, and lost all the advantages of his tact 
and diplomacy. 

" I likes yer better nor I does Becky Snipes,"' 



TAKING THE BLUE EIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR. 



131 



he said, moderately. Then with more fervor, 
" I likes yer better nor any gal I ever see." 

The usual long pause ensued. 

" Yer hev got a mighty cur'ous way o' showin' 
it," Cynthia replied. 

"I dunno what ye're talkin' 'bout, Cynthy." 

"Yer hev got a mighty cur'oua way o' show- 
in' it," she reiterated, with renewed animation 
— "a-comin' all the way down hyar from the 
mountings ter beat my par out 'n that thar sad- 
dle an' bridle, what he's done sot his heart onto. 
Mighty cur'ous way." 

" Look hyar, Cynthy." The young hunter 
broke off suddenly, and did not speak again for 
several minutes. A great perplexity was surging 
this way and that in his slow brains — a great 
struggle was waging in his heart. He was to 
choose between love and ambition — nay, avarice 
too was ranged beside his aspiration. He felt 
himself an assured victor in the competition, and 
he had seen that saddle and bridle. It was on 
exhibition to day, and to him its material and 
workmanship seemed beyond expression wonder- 
ful, and elegant, and substantial. He could never 
hope otherwise to own such accoutrements. His 
eyes would never again even rest upon such re- 
splendent objects, unless indeed in Hobbs's pos- 
session. Any one who has ever loved a horse 
can appreciate a horseman's dear desire that 
beauty should go beautifully caparisoned. And 
then, there was his pride in his own riding, and 
his anxiety to have his preeminence in that ac- 
complishment acknowledged and recognized by 
his friends, and, dearer triumph still, by his ene- 
mies. A terrible pang before he spoke again. 

"Look hyar, Cynthy," he said at last; " ef 
yer will marry me, I won't go back in yander no 
more. I'll leave the premi-«m ter them ez kin 
git it." 

" Ye're foolish, Jacob," she replied, still fan- 
ning with the yellow-calico sun-bonnet. "Ain't 
1 done tole yer, ez how they don't think nothin' 
of yer ter our house? I don't want all of 'em 
a-jowin' at me, too." 

" Yer talk like yer ain't got good sense, Cyn- 
thy," said Jacob, irritably. " What's ter hender 
me from hitchin' up my mare ter my wagon an' 
yer an' me a-drivin' up hyar to the Cross-roads, 
fifteen mile, and git Preacher Rice ter marry us? 
We'll git the license afore we start down hyar ter 
the Court-House. An' while they'll all be a-fool- 
in' away their time a-ridin' round that thar ring, 
yer an' me will be a-gittin' married." Ten min- 
utes ago Jacob Dicey did not think riding around 
that ring was such a reprehensible waste of time. 
"What's ter hender? It don't make no differ 
how they jow then." 

" I done tole yer, Jacob," said the sedate 
Cynthia, still fanning with the sun-bonnet. 



With a sudden return of his inspiration, Jacob 
retorted, affecting an air of stolid indifference: 
" Jes' ez yer choose. 1 won't hev ter ax Becky 
Snipes twict." 

And' he turned to go. 

" I never said no, Jacob," said Cynthia, pre- 
cipitately. "I never said ez how I wouldn't hev 
yer." 

" Waal, then, jes' come along with me right 
now while I hitch up the mare. I ain't agoin' 
ter leave yer a standin' hyar. Ye 're too skittish. 
Time I come back yer'd hev done run away I 
dunno whar." A moment's pause and he added : 
"Is yer a-goin' ter stand thar all day, Cynthy 
Hobbs, a-lookin' up, an' around, an' a-turnin' yer 
neck fust this way and then t'other, an' a-lookin' 
fur all the worl' like a wild turkey in a trap, or 
one o' them thar skeery young deer, or sech 
senseless critters ? What ails the gal ? " 

" Thar 'II be nobody ter help along the work 
ter our house," said Cynthia, the weight of the 
home difficulties bearing heavily on her con- 
science. 

" Thar's chillen enough thar, 'thout yer, Cyn- 
thy, more'n enough ter help along. An' what's 
ter hender yer from a-goin' down thar an' lend- 
in' a hand every wunst in a while ? But ef ye're 
a-goin' ter stand thar like yer hedn't no more 
action than a — a dunno what, jes' like yer par, 
I ain't. I'll jes' leave yer a-growed ter that thar 
post, an' I'll jes' light out stiddier, an' afore the 
cows git ter Pine Lick, I'll be thar too. Jes' ez 
yer choose. Come along ef yer wants ter come. 
I ain't a-goin' ter ax yer no more." 

" I'm a-comin'," said Cynthia. 

There was great though illogical rejoicing on 
the part of the country faction when the crowds 
were again seated, tier above tier, in the amphi- 
theatre, and the riders were once more summoned 
into the ring, to discover from Jacob Dicey 's un- 
accounted-for absence that he had withdrawn and 
left the nominee to his chances. 

In the ensuing competition it became very 
evident to the not altogether impartially disposed 
judges, that they could not, without incurring 
the suspicions alike of friend and foe, award the 
premium to their fellow-townsman. Straight as 
a shingle though he might be, more prepossessing 
to the eye, the ex-cavalryraan of fifty battles was 
far better trained in all the arts of horsemanship. 
The strength of " John Barleycorn " would have 
been of no avail if exerted to unseat him ; the 
saddle seemed as much his accustomed perch as 
the rickety old fence at home — he was as appro- 
priately placed as the bird on the nest. Every 
nerve, every muscle, every fiber, was adjusted to 
the movement of the horse, and whether gallop- 
ing in great leaps, or walking, or trotting, or 
gently cantering, the rider seemed never to 



132 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



move — the sweeping, smooth motion was the 
steed's. 

A wild shout of joy burst from the rural 
party when the most portly and rubicund of the 
portly and red-faced judges advanced into the 
ring and decorated Silas Hobbs with the blue 
ribbon. A frantic antistrophe rent the air. 
" Take it off! " vociferated the bitter town fac- 
tion—" take it off ! " 

A diversion was produced by the refusal of 
the Woodville champion to receive the empty 
honor of the red ribbon and the certificate. 
Thus did he except to the ruling of the judges. 
In high dudgeon he faced about and left the 
arena, followed shortly by the decorated Silas, 
bearing the precious saddle and bridle, and going 
with a wooden face to receive the congratula- 
tions of his friends. 

The entries for the slow mule-race had been 
withdrawn at the last moment ; and the specta- 
tors, balked of that unique sport, and the fair 
being virtually over, were rising from their seats 
and making their noisy preparations for depar- 
ture. Before Silas had cleared the fair-building, 
being somewhat impeded by the moving mass of 
humanity, he encountered one of his neighbors, 
a listless mountaineer, who spoke on this wise : 

" Does yer know that thar gal o' yourn — that 
tharCynthy— ?" 

Mr. Hobbs nodded his expressionless head — 
presumably he did know Cynthia. 

" Waal " — continued his leisurely interlocu- 
tor, still interrogative — "does yer know Jacob 
Dicey ? " 

Ill-starred association of ideas ! There was a 
look of apprehension on Silas Hobbs's wooden 
face. 

"They hev done got a license down hyar ter 
the Oourt-House an' gone a-kitin' out on the Old 
Bar road." 

This was explicit. 

" Whar's my horse ! " exclaimed Silas, appro- 
priating "John Barleycorn " in his haste. Great 
as was his hurry, it was not too imperative to 
prevent him from strapping upon the horse the 
premium saddle and inserting in his mouth the 
new bit and bridle. And in less than ten min- 
utes half of the crowd assembled in Woodville 
was also " a-kitin' " out on the road to Old Bear, 
bent on running down the eloping couple, with 
no more appreciation of the sentimental phase of 
the question and the tender illusions of love's 
young dream than if Jacob and Cynthia were 
two mountain-foxes. 

Down the red-clay slopes of the outskirts 
of the village " John Barleycorn " thundered 
with a train of horsemen at his heels. Splash 
into the clear fair stream whose translucent 
depths told of its birthplace among the moun- 



tain-springs — how the silver spray showered 
about as the pursuers surged through the ford 
leaving behind them a foamy wake! — and now 
pressing hard up the steep ascent of the opposite 
bank, and galloping furiously along a level stretch 
of road, witii the fences and trees whirling by, 
and the September landscape flying on the wings 
of the wind. Past fields of tasseled Indian corn, 
with yellowing thickly - swathed ears, leaning 
heavily from the stalk; past wheat-lands, the 
crops harvested and the weeds having their day 
at last ; past " w.oods-lots " and their black shad- 
ows, and out again into the September sunshine. 
Past rickety little homes, not unlike Silas's own, 
with tow-headed children, exactly like his, stand- 
ing with wide eyes, looking at the rush and hurry 
of the chase ; sometimes in the ill-kept yards a 
wood-fire was burning under the boiling sorghum; 
or beneath the branches of the orchard near at 
hand a cider-mill was crushing the juice out of 
the red and yellow, ripe and luscious apples. 
Past homeward-bound prize-cattle — a Durham 
bull, reluctantly permitting himself to be led into 
a fence-corner that tlie hunt might sweep by un- 
obstructed, and turning his proud blue-ribboned 
head angrily toward the riders as if indignant 
that anything except him should absorb atten- 
tion; a gallant horse, with another floating blue 
streamer, bearing himself as becometh a king's 
son — almost crushing sundry grunting porkers 
impervious to pride and glory in any worldly dis- 
tinctions of cerulean decorations — having to draw 
up and wait until a flock of silly over-dressed 
sheep, running in frantic fear every way but the 
right way, could be gathered together and guided 
to a place of safety. 

And once more, forward ; past solid, red-brick 
houses with porches, and vine-grown verandas, 
and well-tended gardens, and groves of oak, and 
beech, and hickory trees — "John Barleycorn" 
makes an ineffectual but gallant struggle to get 
in at one of the large white gates of these com- 
fortable places. Squire Goodlet's home, but he is 
urged back into the road, and again the chase 
sweeps on. Those blue mountains, the long 
parallel ranges of Old Bear and his brothers, 
seem no more a misty, uncertain mirage against 
the delicious indefinable tints of the horizon. 
Sharply outlined they are now, with dark, irregu- 
lar shadows upon their precipitous slopes which 
tell of wild ravines, and stone-lined gorges, and 
swirling mountain-torrents, and great, beetling, 
gray crags. A breath of balsams comes on the 
freshening wind — the lungs expand to meet it. 
There is a new aspect in the scene ; a revivifying 
current thrills through the blood ; a sudden ideal 
beauty descends on prosaic creation. 

" 'Pears like I can't git my breath good in 
them flat countries," said Silas Hobbs to himself, 



A WESTERN ADVENTURE. 



133 



as "John Barleycorn" improved his speed under 
the exhilarating influence of the wind. " I'm 
nigh on to silflicated every time I goes down 
yander ter Woodville " (with a jerk of his 
wooden head in the direction of that imposing 
village). 

Long stretches of woods on either side of the 
road now, with no sign of the changing season 
in the foliage save the slender, pointed, scarlet 
leaves and creamy plumes of the sumach, gleam- 
ing here and there ; and presently another pano- 
rama of open country. More brick houses, and 
gardens, and a number of humble log-cabins, and 
a dingy little store, and the Cross-roads were 
reached. And here the conclusive intelligence 
met the party that Jacob and Cynthia had been 
married by Preaciier Rice an hour ago and were 
still "a-kitinV' at last accounts, out on the road 
to Old Bear. 

The pursuit stayed its ardor. The fun was 
over. As Jacob had appropriately remarked, 
"jowin"' now was of no avail. On the auspi- 
cious day when Silas Hobbs took the blue ribbon 
at the county fair and won the saddle and bridle, 
he lost his daughter. 

They saw Cynthia no more until later in the 
autumn when she came, without a word of self- 
justification or apology for her conduct, to lend 
her mother a helping hand in spinning and weav- 
ing her little brothers' and sisters' clothes. And 
gradually the eclat attendant upon her nuptials 
was forgotten, except that Mrs. Hobbs now and 
then remarks that she " dunno liow we could hev 
bore up agin Cynthy's a-runnin' away like she 
done, ef it hedn't a-been fur that thar saddle an' 
bridle." 



A WESTERN ADVENTURE. 

By C. H. Jones. 

MANY years ago — upward of twenty-five, 
I find on counting them over — when the 
eyes of nearly all adventurers in the States were 
attracted to the newly acquired Mexican posses- 
sions, and when wild stories were afloat of the ' 
fortunes to be made, and the power to be ac- ! 
quired, in those little known but strangely fasci- j 
nating regions, I found myself in the vanguard 
of what promised to be a movement of popula- 
tion toward the southwest, similar in character, 
if on a smaller scale, to that which was at the 
same time pressing overland to California. I 
was a young man then, and, though making a 
fortune was, of course, uppermost in my mind, 
I was nearly as much influenced by the desire ! 
for adventure; and this it was, perhaps, that j 
caused me to turn my steps toward the far south- ! 



ern frontier rather than to California. Stories 
were already coming back from the Golden State 
of disappointment and overplus of population and 
famine ; and it occurred to me that New Mexico 
— where, as I had heard, the early Spanish con- 
querors found the richest mines — gave surer 
promise both of easily acquired wealth and of 
more romantic and unique experience. 

I will confess at the start that, like most of 
the components of the vast caravan then surging 
westward, I little thought what a journey across 
the Plains meant. That it involved hardship I 
knew, and that it was not less perilous than diffi- 
cult ; but of the precise nature of the obstacles 
to be encountered I was, fortunately or unfor- 
tunately, in entire ignorance. It is necessary to 
remind the reader that what is now known as the 
"Plains" — stretching from the Missouri River to 
the Rocky Mountains, and from the interior of 
Texas to the boundary -line of British America — 
was at that period a great open space on the 
maps, across which was written the legend " Great 
ATuerican Desert." Geographers had in this case 
followed their immemorial usage of stigmatizing 
as uncanny any region with which they are un- 
acquainted ; and mysterious terrors, borrowed 
from the experience of African explorers, brooded 
over some of the fairest portions of the continent. 
Genuine terrors there were in plenty, as the read- 
er will presently see ; but I can never recall with- 
out a smile my primitive idea of the vast wastes 
which lay between me and my then eagerly de- 
sired goal. 

The foregoing paragraphs will explain under 
what influences and for what objects I found 
myself in St. Louis early in the year 1850. The 
little city had suffered from several paroxysms of 
the "California fever," and was just beginning 
to settle down upon the conviction of its own 
brilliant destiny. Strangers were there in great 
numbers from all parts; but I soon discovered 
that nobody knew anything of the country "be- 
yond the settlements" in the direction I wanted 
to go. At first I thought of descending the Mis- 
sissippi to New Orleans, and then striking west- 
ward, and this I had far better have done; but I 
finally concluded to proceed to Fort Smith, on 
the extreme western border of Arkansas, procure 
a guide, and push directly for New Mexico. 

The journey to Fort Smith, though tedious, 
was not difficult; and I had the good fortune, 
almost immediately on arriving there, to fall in 
with an experienced trapper and plainsman, who 
was more than willing to "git away from the 
settlements," and make venture in new fields. 
This guide was a notewortliy character in his 
way. His name was James Mitchell ; but he was 
almost universally known as "Surly Jim," a so- 
Iriqvet which he bad acquired by reason of his 



134 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



morose temper and repellent ways. I have never 
seen on a human countenance such an expression 
of grim and pervading discontent as he carried 
when I first met him, and he could certainly be- 
have ugly enough when he chose; but I am con- 
vinced that his surliness was simply the sponta- 
neous and irrepressible expression of his disgust 
at being crowded out of his hunting-grounds and 
scarcely less dear solitude by the slowly rising 
tide of population. As soon as we had left civili- 
zation behind us, the crust vanished like frost 
before the morning sun, and I have seldom had 
a more cheerful, entertaining, and good-natured 
companion than Mitchell proved himself during 
the trip about to be described. The sole point 
of misunderstanding between us was my pocket- 
compass, for which I entertained a perhaps ex- 
aggerated respect, while Mitchell felt for it the 
aggressive contempt characteristic of old plains- 
men. It always provoked his wrath when I con- 
sulted that little monitor upon our route, though 
the service which it subsequently rendered in two 
or three emergencies compelled him to recognize 
that it was not altogether a device of the evil- 
one. 

Our preparations for the journey were soon 
made. I was already the possessor of a good 
horse ; Mitchell had one for his own use ; and I 
bought two pack-mules for the transportation of 
our "kit," which consisted of a small wall-tent, 
a very few cooking-utensils, and a supply of such 
articles of food as we were least likely to be able 
to obtain en route. To these I added a collection 
of such trade-goods as I thought most likely to 
be in demand in a new country unacquainted as 
yet with American manufactures. None of the 
animals was heavily burdened, and we expected 
to make, and in fact did make, good time. The 
first stage of the journey, from the Arkansas to 
the Red River, lay through the reservations of 
the Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians, occupying 
the southeastern portion of what is now the In- 
dian Territory. It was traversed rapidly and 
with little difficulty, the Indians being even at 
that early date initiated into all the ways of 
civilization, and living in a manner scarcely dif- 
ferent from that of their white neighbors down 
East. They treated us amicably, though some- 
what suspicious of our intentions ; often gave us 
what we would willingly have bought ; and seemed 
as eager as ourselves to speed us on our journey. 

We crossed the Red River about twenty miles 
above the mouth of the Big Wichita, and then, 
bearing a little south of west on a course nearly 
parallel with the latter stream, entered upon the 
unknown " Desert " region of the maps. We 
were now in a country where we were liable at 
any moment to faU in with roving or wild In- 
dians, and I was speedily initiated into all the 



mysteries of plainsmen's craft. Mitchell, who 
had hitherto jogged along like any ordinary trav- 
eler, now became so extremely cautious in select- 
ing our path and so incessantly alert and watch- 
ful, that it kept me at first in a constant fume 
of anxiety and alarm, which was only dissipated 
after several days by my becoming used to it 
and in a measure infected by it. Not a speck on 
the remote horizon, nor the faintest film of mist, 
nor the most insignificant mark on the ground, 
escaped his minute and careful scrutiny; and, 
whenever we approached a slight elevation in 
the boundless and nearly level expanse of plain, 
he made me remain behind with the horses, and, 
creeping forward alone to the summit, swept the 
horizon in all directions. An hour before sunset, 
if a favorable spot could be found, it was our 
custom to halt, picket the animals for grazing, 
and kindle a fire of dried buffalo-chips (which 
produce scarcely any smoke) for the preparation 
of our supper. As soon as it was dark, Mitchell 
carefully obliterated all traces of our fire, and, 
saddling our horses, we went forward a mile or 
two to some sheltered locality, where we pitched 
our tent and settled down for the night. So 
much depended upon our horses that we spared 
no pains in securing their safety. Mitchell's 
horse was an old stager, and only needed to have 
his halter attached to a wooden stake driven in 
the ground, near the tent. My own horse and 
the two mules, besides being attached firmly to 
stakes, were provided with " side-lines," tying 
together the two legs on the same side, and com- 
pletely disabling them from running. 

Much of this painstaking seemed to me super- 
fluous at the time, and I confess that I rather 
fretted under it ; but I have had some experience 
of Plains-life since then, and I am convinced that 
it saved our scalps. Without knowing it, we 
were exactly crossing the track of the great buf- 
falo-migration from the south to their summer 
grazing-grounds on the northern plains. Though 
the movement for that season was wellnigh fin- 
ished, we saw great numbers every day; and, as 
the Indians always follow the buffalo-route, in 
order to secure their summer hunts, the wonder 
is that we did not run into their clutches a dozen 
times. On several occasions, indeed, we came 
upon indications of their close proximity, and 
often saw their signal-smokes on the horizon, 
but only once did we actually fall in with them. 
It was about the middle of the afternoon, and we 
were slowly ascending a gentle slope, when, on 
arriving at the crest, we saw on the other side, 
and coming almost directly toward us, a party of 
nine mounted Comanches. They were not more 
than six hundred yards off, and it would have 
been impossible to avoid the meeting; but, even 
if we had intended making the effort, it would 



A WESTERN ADVENTURE. 



135 



have been thwarted, for immediately on sighting 
them one of our mules gave out a most prodi- 
gious bray, which brought them all instantly to 
attention. Halting a moment to consult, they 
dashed oft' at a gallop in an oblique direction to 
our right, yelling like demons, and brandishing 
their weapons. They evidently suspected there 
were more of us behind the slope, and wanted to 
gain its crest at a safe distance, instead of coming 
directly upon us. My first natural impulse, on 
seeing that there was to be a tight at such odds, 
was to seek a sheltered position, and I urged 
Mitchell to enter a rocky thicket, which lay a 
short distance to our left. Instead, he shouted 
to me to keep close up, and galloped back about 
a quarter of a mile on the track we had come, to 
a broad and perfectly level space. In the center 
of this he dismounted, put the side-lines on the 
horses, tied their heads close together, and then, 
taking his gun on his arm, sat down on the 
ground between them and the Indians, telling 
me to do the same. Seeing this, the Indians 
consulted together again, and, forming into a 
compact body, galloped furiously toward us, ut- 
tering such yells as I had never before heard, 
and giving me the impression that they would 
ride right over us. When they were about two 
hundred yards away, Mitchell raised his rifle, 
and instantly each man threw himself on the 
side of his horse, and circled back to the starting- 
point. This manoeuvre was repeated about half 
a dozen times, until, contrary to Mitchell's orders, 
I fired and wounded one of the ponies. This in- 
spired them with such respect for our weapons 
that they did not again come within range, but 
divided into groups, and examined the ground 
on every side, in search of some point where 
they could approach under cover. Finding none, 
they again came together, watched us intently 
for a while, and then, turning tail, galloped off. 
I supposed we had done with them, and wanted 
to resume our journey ; but Mitchell only made 
the horses more secure, and quietly resumed his 
position. In about half an hour the Indians re- 
appeared on the part of the crest nearest lis, and 
dashed down, yelling worse than ever, and shak- 
ing blankets and buffalo-robes. The object of 
this manoeuvre was to stampede our horses ; but 
Mitchell had rendered this impossible, and, speed- 
ily discovering tlie fact, the rascals galloped off 
once more and disappeared. 

It w^as growing dark by this time, and, know- 
ing how easy it would be to creep upon us under 
cover of the darkness, I fully expected a night 
attack ; but Mitchell rightly assured me that In- 
dians would not attack at night, and that we had 
«een the last of them. I could not understand 
this at the time, and my trusty guide could tell 
me nothing beyond the mere fact ; but I have 



since learned that one of the common supersti- 
tions of the Plains Indians is that a man killed 
in the dark will dwell in darkness throughout 
eternity. This is for tlie white man a most for- 
tunate belief, for the characteristic Indian quali- 
ties are precisely of the kind which make night 
attacks terrible. 

Another quality of the Indians, which is for- 
tunate for their wiiite antagonists, is also exem- 
plified in the foregoing anecdote. If we had 
taken to cover, as I wished, we should probably 
have been scalped in ten minutes; for his knowl- 
edge of the ground, and his wonderful skill in 
profiting by its inequalities, give the Indian over- 
whelming advantages in such a contest. While 
adventurous enough, however, in availing him- 
self of any advantages which his superior craft 
gives him, the Indian has no relish for a fair, 
stand-up fight, in which blood is certain to be 
shed on both sides. Superiority of numbers 
seems to have no effect in diminishing this re- 
pugnance, for each Indian thinks that he is the 
one that will be killed, and an Indian has no 
more fondness for being killed or wounded than 
a white man. The raising of a single rifle is often 
sufficient to stop a party of thirty or forty charg- 
ing in full career; and only the largest war- 
party will run directly upon two or three well- 
armed men, who have taken a favorable position 
in the open. Such a party they consider "bad 
medicine." 

Four or five days after our adventure with 
the Indians, we found ourselves approaching the 
eastern border of the Llano Estacado or Staked 
Plain, and were congratulating each other on 
the excellent progress made, when a catastrophe 
occurred which put a peremptory end to our 
westward journey, and seemed more than likely 
at the time to put an end to our lives. We had 
halted as usual for supper, and then pitched our 
tent just on the verge of a deep, wide, and some- 
what precipitous ravine, at the bottom of which 
ran a small stream of water. Mitchell's horse 
was picketed just in rear of the tent; mine and 
the mules about a dozen yards off. We sat up 
rather late that night, and when I turned in I 
took less than the usual care to have my gun, 
etc., convenient, but by a great piece of good 
fortune kept on my coat, vest, and socks. Short- 
ly after midnight, Mitchell shook me by the arm; 
I and sitting up and obeying his injunction to lis- 
ten, I heard a low, continuous roaring sound like 
the noise of a distant cataract, but steadily in- 
creasing in volume. I was utterly bewildered, 
and we lost many precious moments in trying 
to make out what it was; but at last Mitchell 
rushed from the tent, and drawing on my boots 
I followed. The roar was much more distinct 
now; and, turning toward the broad prairie 



136 



APPLETONS' SUMMER ROOK. 



whence it came, we could see a wavering black 
line approaching rapidly, and steadily increasing 
both in width and blackness. One appalled look 
revealed to us the nature of the phenomenon — an 
immense herd of stampeded buffaloes was rush- 
ing directly upon us witb tremendous speed and 
irresistible force. The advance line was not 
more than three hundred yards distant, so there 
was no time even to think of a plan of escape, 
much less to carry it out. For myself I could 
only gaze at the surging mass with a sort of hor- 
rid fascination, and I scarcely saw Mitchell as he 
flung down his gun and ran to the tent, striking 
matches as fast as he could and applying them 
to the grass and tent-cloth. Fortunately the 
grass was very dry and the cloth inflammable, 
and almost instantly the entire tent was in a 
blaze. Then seizing me by the shoulder, Mitch- 
ell dragged me to the verge of the bluff di- 
rectly in front of the tent, and we both fell 
rather than jumped to a ledge just beneath. As 
we went over, my powder-can in the tent ex- 
ploded with a prodigious report, and a moment 
afterward the first ranks of the buffalo plunged 
down the declivity, not ten yards distant on each 
side of us. Every moment for what seemed 
hours I expected to feel the fatal tramp of the 
huge beasts as they rushed over the bank above 
our heads ; but the fire and the noise of the explo- 
sion had split the frantic herd scarcely twenty 
yards away, and the two divergent streams thun- 
dered harmlessly by into the darkness. Swift as 
were their movements, they were upward of 
five minutes in passing, and Mitchell himself esti- 
mated that there could not have been less than 
five thousand animals in this stampede. 

When the tumultuous roar had subsided again 
into a faint and rapidly vanishing murmur, we 
clambered up the bank ; and the scene which 
met our eyes might well strike us with dismay. 
On the spot where our tent had stood was a 
glowing bed of embers and ashes; while scat- 
tered about in every direction, whither they had 
been driven by the explosion, were pots, kettles, 
and the hardware truck with which I had de- 
signed to trade. Of our blankets and clothing 
hardly a vestige remained ; every item of our 
ammunition had been destroyed ; and the wood- 
work of my gun and pistol was completely 
burned away. Mitchell's rifle had fallen in the 
track of the buffalo and was trodden into a shape- 
less mass of iron. Flour, salt, coffee, all had fed 
the flames; and the sole residue of our stock, 
not discovered till the morning, was a large tin 
box full of crackers (biscuits). Saddest of all, 
our animals were also lost. Mitchell's horse lay 
dead just behind the tent, killed probably by the 
shock of the explosion. My horse and the mules, 
paralyzed with fright and unable to break away. 



had been trodden by the buffaloes into an un- 
recognizable mass of pulp. 

As if Fortune had not already done her worst, 
Mitchell was apprehensive lest the fire and smoke 
should bring the Indians upon us, and dragged 
me down to the densest thickets at the bottom 
of the ravine, where, strange to say, I at once 
fell asleep, and slept soundly till sunrise. In the 
morning we made two important discoveries: 
first, that five buffaloes had been killed in the des- 
perate scramble across the ravine ; second, that 
a large tin box filled -with crackers had preserved 
its contents unharmed. As soon as we made 
these discoveries we sat down to consider our 
situation, and to decide upon our future course. 
Between us and our contemplated destination in 
New Mexico lay the great Staked Plain, utterly 
impassable to any one on foot. To retrace our 
steps toward the Red River was to invite almost 
certain death by starvation and to run terrible 
risks from the Indians, now on their summer 
migration northward. It was finally decided 
that our best chance lay in pushing southeast for 
the settlements in northern Texas. The chief 
danger in this direction, as we estimated it, lay 
in our utter ignorance of the intervening coun- 
try and the probable scarcity of water ; but an 
effort must be made, and this seemed to promise 
better than any other. 

Our resolution being formed, it only remained 
to devise the ways and means of carrying it out; 
and the first step was to secure, if possible, an 
adequate amount of food for the journey. The 
crackers would last but a few days if we de- 
pended on them alone; and, having no weapon 
of any kind except a couple of hunter's knives, 
we could not depend on getting any game en 
route; but the dead buffaloes seemed to offer 
ample store of food if we could only utilize them ; 
and here Mitchell's knowledge of Plains-craft 
was once more of inestimable advantage. The 
Plains Indians live almost exclusively upon buf- 
falo-meat, which they procure in their summer 
hunts, and prepare by drying it thoroughly in 
the sun, pounding it to powder between two 
stones, and packing it away in air-tight skins. 
We could not spare the time for this process, for 
every day of a meager and limited diet would 
diminish our strength, wliile every hour in- 
creased the danger of being discovered by pass- 
ing Indians. Under Mitchell's direction, there- 
fore, we contrived a more expeditious method. 
Selecting the leanest and juiciest meat, we cut it 
into long and thin strips, spread it in the sun 
upon a rudely constructed platform, and built 
under it a fire of green wood, which kt^pt it con- 
stantly enshrouded in smoke. By this means we 
had at the end of two days and nights about fifty 
pounds of tolerably well-preserved meat, which, 



LIFE ON A CALIFOENIA RANCH. 



13T 



if dry and tough and flavorless, would at least 
sustain life. In the mean time we had recov- 
ered several uninjured bottles from the wreck of 
the tent ; and these, for the purpose of carrying 
water, Mitchell covered with buflfalo-skin tied on 
with raw-hide thongs ; so that on the morning 
of the third day we were ready to start with 
about five pounds of crackers, as much dried 
meat as we could comfortably carry, and a gal- 
lon or so of water. 

A detailed account of our journey would not 
be without interest, perhaps, if I could recall it 
with suflicient vividness, but it was singularly 
free from adventurous episodes ; and, though in- 
finitely fatiguing and not without privations, in- 
volved less of downright suftering than was to 
have been expected. Sulfice it to say that, after 
a fortnight's somewhat devious wanderings, we 
found ourselves approaching the frontier settle- 
ments, and before reaching them fell in with a 
body of United States troops en route from Tex- 
as to New Mexico. I easily obtained permission 
to accompany them ; and so at last, in a round- 
about way, reached my oi'iginal destination. 
Mitchell preferred to return to Arkansas, where, 
as I have heard, he entered the government ser- 
vice, and rendered valuable aid to the army as 
scout and guide. 

I may observe, in conclusion, that the adven- 
ture I have described was not an altogether ex- 
ceptional one. For many years after the period 
of which I write, butiiilo " stampedes " consti- 
tuted one of the characteristic dangers of travel 
on the Plains. The barbarous slaughter that 
has been going on since 1871, however, has not 
only completely eliminated this danger, but has 
rendered it certain that the American bison will 
soon be as extinct as the other strange animals 
whose fossil remains are found throughout the 
whole length and breadth of the Plains. 



LIFE ON A CALIFOENIA 
RANCH. 

IT became the fortune of the writer to leave 
San Francisco in September, 1878, and, after 
crossing Santa Clara Valley — one of the richest 
in the State — to ascend by a fine stage-road into 
the very heart of a spur of the Santa Cruz Moun- 
tains. This road begins at a little village at the 
foot of the hills, and creeps gradually higher and 
higher, turning this bluff and that spur until, after 
a league, the traveler looks down into the glow- 
ing valley, and, if timid, shudders in secret at the 
depth. 

The path thus leading away from the inhab- 
ited valley, full of men and towns, into the quiet 



seclusion of the land among the hills, finally 
comes to a fair, broad region, where the " ranch- 
men " plant their acres with vines and fruit-trees, 
and where a stranger may live without ever wish- 
ing for the world of commerce, or thinking of it. 
There are high hills upon every side except toward 
the west. In that direction the land sinks in al- 
ternate ridges and ravines toward the ocean, and 
the great redwoods line the horizon. The houses 
are made of inch redwood-boards and building- 
paper, and are accordingly somewhat rude struc- 
tures, but they suflSciently answer the purpose 
in this agreeable climate. 

There is no stone fit for walls, like those with 
which the New England fanners separate their 
fields, and so the inhabitants split the trunks of 
the redwood pines into rough pickets, three 
inches square and five feet long ; and, after driv- 
ing them into the soil in lines, bind them close 
together at.the top with strips of board. The 
fence thus constructed is cheap, quickly made, 
effective, and durable. There is little concern 
for appearances ; the soil of many years remains 
undisturbed upon the wagon-wheels ; no flower- 
garden is well cared for; they mend the har- 
nesses with bits of ropes; and they trust little 
or nothing to the vanity of paint. You see no 
vegetable gardens, no patches of potatoes, lettuce, 
peas ; no little areas carefully fenced and care- 
fully cultivated in odd moments, when greens are 
in season. It does not pay to be at the trouble, 
and for this reason — the warmth of the soil and 
the early heat of the sun tend to force the vege- 
tables into premature ripeness, and thence into 
coarseness of fiber. 

The grapes that grow in this favored place 
are wonderfully large and fine. They are much 
better than those of the valleys, and are eagerly 
sought for by those who use the better kinds. 
A neighbor to me grew sixty varieties last season, 
though it is probable that not more than twenty 
kinds went to market. Every one's vines are 
prosperous, and the yield is enormous. The plants 
grow lying upon the ground; the dryness of the 
summer preventing the rot which attacks them 
in .regions where rains are more frequent. It is 
quite a common thing to go out in the cool of a 
delicious morning, and cut otf bunches of these 
o-rapes, and devour them three or four at a time, 
gazing meanwhile at acres more of the same kind. 
A certain ferocity develops in the reveler after a 
few weeks' indulgence in this sort of repast. One 
would lose the respect of all his friends were he 
to write down f;nthfully what his capacity for 
grapes at length becomes. In number, in weight, 
in kinds, the result is alike prodigious. 

The ranchmen make boxes out of the clear 
redwood, and pack twenty-five pounds of grapes 
in each — all honestly picked, and decorated with 



138 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



the leaves of the vines. These are carried in 
wagon-loads to the valley below or to Santa Cruz 
on the coast. Now and then you perceive a most 
delicious odor in the roadway, and, after a while, 
it is seen that the dust has received a slight sprin- 
kling. You walk on, half intoxicated, charmed 
by the soft air, the scenery, and the shade of the 
overhanging trees, and you overtake a wagon 
laden with grapes en masse — a purple sight, rich 
and tempting. They are on the way to some 
wine-press. Nearly every ranchman tills a few 
casks yearly with the juice of some of his grapes, 
thinking that he is laying up a claret which will 
be fine some day. But he has his labor for his 
uneducated pains, and produces only an acrid 
liquor the reverse of palatable. 

The California ranchmen have wonderful apti- 
tude for driving, and one sees some pretty good 
examples among these hills. The road down the 
mountain-sides is entirely unguarded upon the 
outer edge, and the descent in most places is pre- 
cipitous. A balky horse, or a fractured wheel, 
or a slight carelessness in handling the reins, 
might easily send a carriage-load of people to 
destruction — and an awful destruction, too. The 
path is wide enough for one pair of wheels only, 
but at intervals, in favorable places, it broadens 
so that teams may pass each other. To drive in 
such a manner as not to meet another traveler 
midway between these places is a special branch 
of the art. The huge lumber-teams, which carry 
wood from the mills in the mountains to the yards 
in the valleys, being unwieldy and very heavy, 
are especially hard to manage. Yet the drivers 
always seem easy and nonchalant. First, there is 
a large, four-wheeled, oaken truck, with a seat in 
front ten feet above the ground; behind it is 
another truck, something shorter, but still enor- 
mously stout. These are fastened together, and 
loaded with from ten to fifteen tons of freshly 
sawed lumber — boards and joists. This mass is 
drawn by six or eight mules or horses, guided by 
reins and a prodigiously long whip. The first 
wagon has a powerful brake, worked by a long 
iron lever by the driver upon his seat. The driver 
is a man of nerve and courage. His skill must 
be of the highest order. It will not do for hirii 
to take fright even if in imminent danger, and 
he must know almost to a hair's-breadth where 
he can go and where he can not. Towering up 
far above the road, overlooking the most stupen- 
dous depths, and guiding with a few slender lines 
a tremendous force, he must needs be an adept, 
and a tireless one. But a beholder, ignorant of 
the danger that constantly surrounds him, would 
say his work was simple, and that he managed 
matters with ease. True, he seems so. With his 
broad-brimmed hat shading his sunburned face, 
his sinewy hands holding the reins with careless- 



ness, his legs outstretched, with one foot feeling 
the all-important brake, he jogs onward with his 
monster charge without trouble or concern ; the 
bells upon the horses' breasts jingle a little tune ; 
the great wheels crush the stones in the path ; 
the load creaks like a ship's hull in a sudden gust ; 
wild birds sweep down into the hazy, sunny depths 
below — yet the driver seems to take no heed. 
But let a "scare" take place; let a herd of run- 
away cattle appear at a bend and set the horses 
wild, and then see what will happen. The day- 
dreamer will become a giant of strength. He is 
up in a flash ; he shortens his hold upon the reins, 
and, feeling his wagon start up beneath him, 
places a foot of iron on the brake. The horses 
snort and rear and surge ; the harnesses rattle, the 
dust arises, the load shrieks again, and the huge 
wheels turn fatally faster and faster. An instant 
may hurl the wagon down into the valley with its 
struggling train — a mad rush to the other side 
of the way may end all in one horrible plunge. 
Muscle, eye, brain, skill, are then brought to work 
so splendidly together, that the peril is averted, 
and the looker-on, who knows not the ways of 
the land, regards the teamster with profound re- 
spect thereafter. 

The horses that are used in the country are 
mostly of the mustang sort. A mustang is a 
creature which has indeed the form of a horse, 
together with certain characteristics of his own 
— namely, a bad memory, which permits him to 
shy at a harmless shrub twenty times a day, if 
he sees it as often ; ingratitude, which permits 
him to kick and injure his best human friend; 
absence of mind, which permits him to run furi- 
ously after it has been made clear to him that 
he is expected to walk ; and a power to develop 
energy with great rapidity, which enables him to 
change in a twinkling from a simple, trustworthy 
looking nag into a snorting, biting, kicking de- 
mon. With these vices he has the one virtue of 
being enduring as so much brass. 

There is a peculiar dress worn by the out-of- 
door folk of this land among the hills that de- 
serves to be introduced into other lands, so fit is 
it for the wear-and-tear of farming. It consists 
of pantaloons or overalls, and jacket, made of 
canvas, colored brown, and fastened in all im- 
portant places with small copper rivets. It wears 
astonishingly well. The hunters wear a "jumper " 
of the same material, filled with pockets inside 
and out for their innumerable wants, while the 
lower part forms a game-bag of considerable size. 

Trees of various kinds, such as oak, cherry, 
etc., form an agreeable variety, where so much 
" redwood " predominates. The redwoods have 
become famous for their size and height all the 
world over, the Wellingtonia gigantea of Cala- 
veras belonging to the family. They usually 



LIFE ON A CALIFOKNIA RANCH. 



139 



grow in fraternal groups of three or fonr, and it 
is impossible not to feel impressed by their so- 
lemnity when walking among them. The ground 
at their feet is covered with their browned spines, 
and their trunks rise one hundred and fifty feet 
before putting forth a branch. Many are ten 
feet in diameter at ten feet above the ground, 
and a few are so large that speculators hew and 
burn cavities in the bases when the road runs 
conveniently near, and therein set up a kind of 
restaurant for the benefit of the thirsty traveler. 

The writer had hoped to leave at least the 
dust behind, and derive from the tall trees and 
the cooling streams a little of the summer com- 
fort which had been so signally denied him in 
the region below. Disappointment, however, 
was his lot. On reaching the hills he found 
the brooks dry, and their courses marked with 
bowlders, upon whose nether sides one could 
light a match. The depths of the woods were 
airless ovens, where in a moment the hands and 
face ran with perspiration. There was not a 
blade of grass to be seen. The earth was brown, 
powdery, and hot. The dust in the roads was 
astonishing for its depth. It arose in obedience 
to the slightest breath, and, after a little ac- 
quaintance with the sunburned region, one fore- 
told that a friend was coming by seeing a mov- 
ing cloud over the top of the hill. For twenty 
yards on each side of the highways and lanes the 
underbrush was whitened. When people went 
to ride, they pulled linen coats over their better 
garments, and tied their wrists and collars. For 
the first mile or two the traveler snorts the dust 
out of his nostrils, and at intervals surveys his 
powdered clothing with dismay. Through his 
blurred eyes he barely sees the features of his 
neighbor upon the same seat ; the horses are en- 
tirely beyond his view ; a sense of suffocation 
overcomes him ; and all sounds are drowned as 
they are in a snowstorm. At length, however, 
instead of being annoyed at the quantity of dirt 
which settles upon him, he refrains from shaking 
himself, and with a certain amused interest won- 
ders how high the pile upon the back of his 
glove will grow before the journey comes to an 
end. The dust is a feature of the land, and 
strangers who have heard of it regard it with 
curiosity, as they do their first gold-mine. 

This persistent recurrence of dry days, the 
everlasting pouring down of yellow light upon 
the parched, yellowish landscape, the breathing 
of hot air from all quarters, the absence of flour- 
ishing crops and greenery from the fields, soon 
dry up the soul of the new-comer, and weary 
out his patience. 

At the close of October the skies were yet 
clear, the atmosphere a little hazy, the mornings 
and evenings en joy ably warm, and the nights 



refreshingly cool. The fruit of the orchards had 
been marketed long since, and the grapes were 
two thirds gathered. The affairs of the year 
were winding up; two or three weeks in No- 
vember would give the farmers ample time to 
clear away their tardy crop, and then the winter 
might fall, and welcome. One bright day suc- 
ceeded another; the " verdelo" ripened, yielding 
sweet, pale-green grapes ; and piles of newly 
made redwood boxes stood in every yard ready 
for their luscious burden. At length there came 
a moment when further effort became useless; 
when the summer, with its fruits and its glories 
of color, went out, and winter, like a "spook" 
in a pantomime, came suddenly in. 

In California, the two seasons end and begin 
respectively with the same event — a shower of 
rain. Autumn does not intervene ; there is no fall 
of the leaf, no augmentation of the winds. Last 
year the summer ran on until the 1st of Novem- 
ber. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon a few 
drops fell. After that the people spoke of the 
winter as having arrived. Everything seemed 
taken by surprise ; the rain had come ; the horses 
gazed strangely about them ; the children ran 
out with wild noises, and stood bareheaded and 
laughing in the thick of the storm ; the men 
leaned in the doorways with their hands in their 
pockets, silently pleased ; the dust turned slowly 
into mire ; the leaves of the madrones, the cher- 
ry-trees, and the oaks lifted themselves up and 
glistened in the pale light, and rills began to 
murmur everywhere. The yearly adjustment 
had begun; the other side of the balance had 
started downward, and the land rejoiced. Every- 
thing was changed out of its old course. The 
choppers, with their axes upon their shoulders, 
came out of the deep recesses of the woods, the 
mills put out their fires, and the grape-gatherers 
came down from the vineyards. The teams 
ceased to traverse the roads, stages were ex- 
changed for wagons, and letters and papers came 
but rarely. A sense of being thrust out of the 
world, a notion of common ill fortune, made 
good neighbors of the people in the foot-hills, 
and a lively interchange of visits between ranch 
and ranch soon followed tlie beginning of the 
rains. 

Rain followed rain in quick succession, always 
coming from the Pacific, and nearly always at- 
tended with a degree of cold that made it un- 
comfortable to stop in the open air even if thick- 
ly clad. The ranch upon which the writer lived 
was some eighteen miles from the nearest salt- 
water ; yet, even as far inland as this, there were 
none of those calm, gently dropping showers that 
fall in England — those soft rains that gather the 
odors of the gardens, and instill the senses with 
so much that is grateful. Here the rain always 



140 



APPLETONS' SUMMEPv BOOK. 



came on the wings of a tempest, and poured 
down furiously. But, given a pleasant day in 
the midst of this California winter, and the dis- 
comfort of the rain and its attendant gloom van- 
ishes, and the dweller in these parts goes forth 
charmed. The very early morning of one of 
these incomparable days is truly a wonder of 
softness and gentleness. Tlie geniality of those 
few early hours is inexpressibly soothing ; one is 
not exhilarated, but quieted ; not wrought up to 
saddle his horse and ride a race, but impelled 
rather to sit in some sunlit spot and watch the 
world awaken in tranquillity. By the latter part 
of November the farmers are out with their 
plows, and the toil of the sower begins. The 
fields grow dark with the subsoil, and then 
change, and grow verdant with the grain. Rye- 
grass springs up on the brown hillsides that 
have been dry all summer, and the streams in 
the deep, wooded gulches make a low roar that 
never ceases. The flowers gather themselves up 
and show their faces, and the almond-trees put 
out their clouds of fragrant blossoms. On the 
oaks, whose branches are hung with mistletoe, a 
gray-green moss gathers and sways to and fro 
above the head. Numberless bluebirds dash 
across the fields, and now and then a meadow- 



lark lifts up its clear, sweet voice, and turns De- 
cember into August. Quail, rabbit, and deer are 
abroad, and in the night-time the coyotes howl 
and bark in the forest. 

The ranchman's one amusement is dancing, 
which he enthusiastically avails himself of. No 
matter if the night be stormy — no matter if the 
host's liouse be a board-cabin a mile from a road, 
and deep down in a gloomy ravine where the 
sun and moon rarely penetrate — the ranchman is 
bound by all the instincts of his nature to be on 
the spot, and to stand up in every quadrille in 
which he can find a place. Wood-choppers, farm- 
ers, teamsters, miners, squatters, together with 
a number of wives and daughters, some remark- 
ably pretty, and some remarkably ugly — get to- 
gether at an hour's notice, and keep up reels and 
polkas until a very late hour next morning. A 
single violin is the motive power. No matter if 
a cloud of dust arises from the ill-cleansed floor 
of the woodman's shanty — no matter if few ap- 
pear upon the scene who have not danced to- 
gether hundreds of times — the fun abates not; 
and at the breaking up there is no one who will 
not promise to be on hand " to-morrow night," in 
case to-morrow night is to be marked with an- 
other similar festivity. 



DOGS I HAVE KNOWN AND LOVED. 



By a Lady. 



THE first dog of any note that my father pos- 
sessed was a black Newfoundland. He was a 
very powerful and intelligent animal. My father 
trained him well, and taught him to go from our 
country place to the town with a basket fastened 
round his neck, with notes inside for the differ- 
ent tradespeople, who understood that he would 
readily give them up, and, if required, would bring 
anything sent, safely back. He was often dis- 
patched for a car to an hotel about a mile distant. 
Hector would go into the yard, and the hostler 
knew at once what was wanted. One day there 
was a strange man in the yard, who could not 
understand what Hector meant ; but the dog 
would not be baflfled. He went straight to the 
bar, and gently barked to gain attention. " Ah ! " 
said the girl, " Hector wants a car," which settled 
the business. 

At that time it was very dangerous to walk 
at night in the country roads. It was before the 
rural poHce were appointed. "When my father 
was absent of an evening, Hector was always 
sent to meet him. A spiked collar was put on, 
to protect his throat. He was told to wait at a 
certain place, and he never failed to be there. 



One evening I was walking home with my father ; 
it was so dark we could scarcely see anything. 
My father said : " We ought to have met George 
by this time. I told him to come with the lan- 
tern." 

W^e walked on a few yards, and Hector met 
us. He was half a mile ahead of his accustomed 
waiting-place. My father was a strict discipli- 
narian, and spoke sharply to the dog, scolding 
him for coming on. But I begged him not to do 
so, thinking there might be some good reason 
for his coming. When we reached the stile to 
cross the fields the dog was restless, and growled 
savagely. 

" Back, Hector, back ! " said ray father ; but 
the dog would not obey him, and bounded over 
first. " There is something the matter," said my 
father, as he took out his clasp-knife, and opened 
it, whispering to me : "We may have a fight. 
Be sure you do not lay hold of my arm." He 
then struck a light with his flint and steel, where- 
upon a man sprang up and moved on before us. 

" Mind yourself, father," said I ; " Hector 
will take care of me." The dear creature came 
close to my side and put his nose into my hand. 



DOGS I HAVE KNOWN AND LOVED. 



141 



I knew he would fight for us to the death ; for 
though as gentle as a lamb to those he loved, he 
was tierce as a lion in defense of them. My 
father was a very powerful and fearless man. 
He had his daughter to protect, and his spirit 
was thoroughly roused ; but he knew it would 
be well to trust to the sagacity of the dog, and 
see what he would do. When we reached the 
stile he stood still and growled. My father said : 
"Come, you fellows, come at once over this stile. 
I know you are there. Come at once, or I will 
set my dog upon you, and he will show you no 
mercy." 

There was a movement, and one, and then 
another man came grumbling. Hector stood 
firm, uttering a low, continued growl. 

"Come along," exclaimed my father; "there 
are more of you. You had better be quick." 

Another came, saying " that he had as much 
right to the road as we had." 

Still the dog would not cross the stile. 

"There is another of you. If you do not 
come at once, my dog will kill you." He saw 
the animal's patience was wellnigh exhausted. 
The last then slunk over, and the dog bounded 
over the stile into the lane. Then we knew the 
brave creature had saved us. When we came to 
the public-house, George, our man-servant, was 
sitting comfortably in the porch waiting for us 
with the lantern. He had seen two men, and 
was afraid to come on ! 

I could tell many interesting stories of this 
noble animal. His end was sad. When we were 
removing to another house, he was taken to pro- 
tect some of the things that were put in the loft 
above the stable ; the stupid man who put him 
there tied him up ; the poor creature's feet had 
slipped, and, when the door was opened next 
morning, our faithful friend was found strangled. 

We had at the same time with Hector my 
Blenheim spaniel Flora. She was a lovely little 
creature, perfect in beauty ; and was very fond 
of Hector, whom she delighted to patronize. He 
"was roaming about the fields one day, when es- 
pying Flora in the pond he jumped in, and took 
her safely to the bank. This liberty the spaniel 
resented by barking and scolding, after which 
she leaped into the water again. Hector looked 
very humble; but still he seemed to think he 
must be there, lest any harm should come. A 
happy thought occurred to him, and walking into 
the water, he quietly waited till Flora climbed 
upon his back, and enjoyed herself, while he 
swam about. When she was tired, she walked 
quietly home. But after this, it was a constant 
source of amusement to let Hector loose with 
Flora upon his back in the water. 

We had also two terriers — one a black and 
tan smooth-haired; the other a wire-haired, one 



of the bravest, most honest dogs I ever knew. 
The smooth-haired was called Tan. He was a 
thorough aristocrat, proud and haughty ; very 
good and clever in a rat-hunt when excited and 
others were working too. Buthewasa perfect 
contrast to honest-hearted Tip. Near our house 
was a farm occupied by a strange sort of man, 
low, vulgar, and savage. This Farmer Oldacre 
had a dog the counterpart of himself, that was 
the terror of the neighborhood. One day he 
was loose, and by some means he got hold of 
poor Tip and almost killed him. We saw him 
torn and bleeding in the yard. Everything that 
could be done for the poor animal was done. 
It was a pretty sight to see little Flora sitting by 
the side of and comforting her injured friend; 
and many a delicious morsel was given to her to 
take to her patient. In about six weeks Tip was 
better and able to run about. One day our man- 
servant, who had been to a distance to fetch some 
hay, informed us on his return that he had seen 
Tan on the road, and tiiat, on whistling. Tan took 
no notice of him. In the afternoon we suddenly 
heard a noise of barking dogs. Ofi" started Flora, 
and joined them. There had assembled about 
twenty of all sorts, who proceeded to Farmer 
Oldacre's, flew at his dog, and tore it to pieces. 
Our man-servant, who followed them for Flor'a's 
sake, told us she in her revenge was the last to 
be taken off from him, while Tip sat looking 
quietly on, taking no share in the attack. Must 
not those animals have communicated with each 
other, and thus punished with death the savage 
brute? These dogs had been collected together 
from a radius of five miles, and it was quite evi- 
dent that information regarding the farmer's 
savage dog had something to do in gathering 
them together. 

Tip was one of the most faithful animals. 
He devoted himself to our old gardener Willy. 
At haymaking-time he was employed to take 
charge of tlie basket of food and the beer that 
were sent into the field for the laborers. No 
one but Willy was allowed to come near while 
the animal guarded Willy's coat. His faithful- 
ness, however, cost him his life. One evening 
in October a sudden sharp frost set in while 
Willy had left Tip in charge of his coat in the 
garden. The old man had been persuaded to go 
to the public-house, and was so intoxicated that 
he could not return home ; but the dog remained 
still faithful to his charge. My father went to 
the dog to try to get him home ; but he would 
not come. He covered him up with a thick 
horse-cloth; but next morning poor Tip could 
not walk. He was almost paralyzed; and was 
in such agony that they were compelled to have 
him shot. 

Flora was so clever that I professed to teach 



142 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 



her the multiplication-table. I used small bis- 
cuits ; and without any mistake she would an- 
swer my questions by pushing the right number 
of biscuits with her paw. Of course I never 
tried high numbers ; and as a reward at the end 
of her lesson I used to say, " Now, Flora, we 
will play at subtraction." She would put her 
pretty head on one side, and — if there were, say, 
four biscuits upon the table — I would ask : 
"Now, Flora; four from four, how many?" In 
a moment all the biscuits disappeared. Where- 
upon she would give a happy little bark, and 
run away well pleased with her performance. 
She was devotedly attached to my father, and in 
a severe illness he had would never leave him 
except to take a short run in the garden. One 
day she was taken from his room into another 
where the servant did not observe that the win- 
dow was open. She had become so susceptible 
to cold from her long confinement in a warm 
room, that she caught a severe chill, which ended 
in rapid consumption. 

I will now conclude with an account of Juno, 
the most singular dog I ever knew. When we 
were in Staffordshire, some years since, a female 
puppy was given to one of my daughters. She 
was a month old when we brought her home. 
She was partly of the hound and Lyme Hall 
mastiff breed, and developed into an animal of 
rare beauty. Her color was a light golden 
brown, with jet-black muzzle, and a little white 
upon her throat. Her eyes were large and lus- 
trous, resembling a fawn's. Hydrophobia being 
very prevalent in our neighborhood, we were 
afraid of her coming in contact with any other 
dogs ; and, as she grew up, the fear of losing her 
compelled us to be very careful, so that she 
never went out without a leash. When she 
came to us we had a kitten, to which she at- 
tached herself; and they were constant com- 
panions until the little creature was accidentally 
killed. Some time after this she saw a cat, and 
ran up to play with it. But puss flew at Juno 
and scratched her severely on the ear. She 
never forgot this ; waited her opportunity, and 
killed it. From that time all cats were doomed 
that she could lay hold of; and our back-yard, 
which had been much infested by them, was 
kept clear of their presence for years. 

Juno soon became so completely identified 
with us, that she did not care to associate with 
any other dogs. She was a most affectionate 
and loving creature to us all, and also formed 
strong attachments to various friends. 

She was remarkable as a watch^dog; indeed, 



she became quite " a terror to evil-doers." We 
felt quite secure from burglars, though the 
houses of many in our neighborhood were at- 
tacked. She never barked unnecessarily. When 
the gate was left open for the early-morning 
men to empty the ash-pit, it was quite suflScient 
to tell her so before retiring for the night, and 
then she never uttered a sound. Her sense of 
smell was so keen that it was impossible to ad- 
minister any medicine to her. Once only was 
this done, and it required such severe measures 
that those who witnessed the scene in the yard 
of the veterinary surgeon have never forgotten 
it. One summer she was very unwell, suffering 
from an eruption of the skin — we supposed from 
a fight she had had with a cat. It occurred to 
me that ripe pears would do her good. She ate 
them with a thorough relisli ; and in the course 
of three weeks she was completely cured! 

Her love for me was very great, though it 
was to her master she evinced the deepest devo- 
tion. When he was absent from home, she 
would eagerly watch for the postman, and fetch 
to me her master's letter, without touching any 
other. I had a severe illness, and while confined 
to the house she was my constant companion. 
One day I was very depressed, and had been 
weeping. She came to me, looked into my face, 
whined, patted me with her paw, and licked my 
hand. Seeing this had no effect in drying my 
tears, she snatched my handkerchief, and ran 
away with it to the other end of the room. 
When she saw me smiling, she came slowly back 
again, and, after a little coaxing, returned it to 
me. Though so brave and fearless, she was 
highly nervous, and suffered dreadfully in a 
thunderstorm. If I were near her, she would 
hide her head in the folds of my dress. When 
alarmed, her face perceptibly paled. We saw a 
remarkable instance of this one day wlien my 
husband returned from a funeral. Juno hearing 
his voice, as usual ran to meet him ; but started 
back as if in horror when she saw him with a 
long black silk hat-band, and a scarf of the same 
material across his shoulders. Her color left her, 
and it was some minutes before she recovered. 

It has often been to me a matter of inquiry 
how much of reasoning power as distinguished 
from instinct is to be found in animals. The 
more I have studied them, and watched their 
various ways and acts, the more I am convinced 
that they are not so far in this respect removed 
from man as some would have us believe. Their 
sense of humor is great, and we all saw this fre- 
quently in Juno. 



FIFTH AVENUE ON AN AUGUST NIGHT. 



143 




FIFTH AVKNUE ON AN AUGUST NIGHT. 

Midnight Reveries of a Lonesome Stockbroker. 



144 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. 




NEW VORK AT THE SEASIDE. 



Mrs. Darling endures the pangs of separation from her Husband, during the Dog-days, " Solely on account of the Children, my 

dear ! " 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



''THE HAMMOCK." 
By O. W. H. 




A FEW years ago one might have publislied a 
Slimmer Book and left out all allusions to the 
hammock without comment being made on it, 
but not so now. So completely has it become 
interwoven into our out of-door summer life 
that to ignore it is to pass by one of the prime 
necessities to the full enjoyment of the summer 
season. To quote a recent writer, whose soul 
was touched by the poetry that his sensitive na- 
ture discovered in its " deft union of simplicity 
and comfort": 

" If summer brought nothing else, it might 
justly be credited with a completed mission in 
supplying the proper conditions for the ham- 
mock. What other device of civilized life can 
compare with it in its deft union of simplicity 
and comfort; what other reveal so subtile an in- 
spiration in its adaptability to the finer sense of 
men ? No rigid lines chafe ; no unyielding forms 
oppress him. The hammock anticipates the 
whims and humors of its occupant. It follows 
the turnings and contortions of his body, adapt- 
ing itself like a loving nurse to each new posi- 
tion, and holding him gently and without a pro- 
test m whatever ridiculous attitude hot weather 
fancies or fatigue may lead him. It may be en- 
joyed in the sleeping-room or on the veranda, 
but its natural and most appropriate place is be- 
tween two stalwart elms or maples. These are 
the best, but, if not available, almost any domes- 
tic trees will do. Then it is ready to give the 
most exquisite enjoyment to all who can accept 
the invitation to its cooling embrace. Wrapped 
in a hammock, man is like a bird— a rather inert 
and drowt.y bird, perhaps, but that is because he 
has the advantage of the tribes of the air in 
being obliged to put forth no exertion to keep 
himself afloat. The cool currents of air dash 
over him on every side. He is buoyed up by an 
almost invisible power, and he bathes in the 
breezes, and inhales a tonic that strengthens as 
well as exhilarates. But that is only the frame- 
work of the poetry of the hammock. The 
world takes on a delightful though almost unreal 
glamour to the happy prisoner in its meshes. 
The trees, the flowers, and moving animate ob- 
jects, become mingled with vacant thought* and 
form a part of them, or upon the azure back- 
ground of the sky the cool and playful clouds 
arrange themselves in a quick-succeeding, ever- 
varying tableaux that, touched with a little 
imagination, may bring before the fascinated 



watcher this whole great world in an afternoon. 
If city men and women sigh for homes in the 
country, let them make haste to swell their bank 
account so that they can huj each two trees, 
about twenty feet apart, and the land on which 
they grow, and then, like the orioles, let them 
swing their hammocks and be happy." 

This poet — for poet he surely is — touches the 
key-note of the "poetry of the hammock." 
Who will gainsay what he has written, or say 
that more than the full meed of praise has been 
accorded to it? Surely not those who have ever 
owned one, provided it met the proper condi- 
tions of the hammock ; and this leads us to re- 
mark that care should be taken in choosing a 
hammock, for, since their use has become so 
general, so many kinds have been put upon the 
market that a little advice on this point may not 
be found amiss. Some of them, especially the 
grass and manila imported hammocks, are not 
as flexible, and consequently not as comfortable, 
as some others. Those made of " Union Web," 
by the Union Hammock Co., of Gloucester, 
Massachusetts, are the best we have found, as 
they avoid the rigidity of the grass ones, and, 
being knotted at short intervals, are indestruc- 
tible. 

Shade-trees are, of course, to be preferred for 
hanging a hammock to. That these are not 
available is often the case, when a less satisfac- 
tory position is substituted. One large tree may 
be made available for several hanimocks, by set- 
tmg stout posts around it at convenient distances, 
to which one end of each hammock may be at- 
tached, and the other end to a chain placed 
around the tree. Care should be taken that 
hammocks are well secured, and that stones and 
other hard substances are removed from under 
them. 

In hanging a hammock, six feet or more of 
rope should be used, and, if intended for a seat or 
swing, both ends may be hung the same height 
from the ground. For use as a hammock, the 
head should be five feet three inches from the 
ground, and the foot three feet three inches, the 
longest stretch of rope being used for the lat- 
ter. 

By following instructions, in the first place 
buying a hammock that is reliable, and using it 
in a common-sense way, more real enjoyment 
and unalloyed comfort can be procured than 
with any other device we know of. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



APPLETONS' GUIDE-BOOKS 



Appletons' European Guide-book. 



Containing Maps of the Various Political Divisions, and Plans of the Principal Cities. 
Being a Complete Guide to the Continent of Europe, PZgypt, Algeria, and the Holy Land. 
To which are appended a Vocabulary of Travel-talk — in English, German, French, and 
Italian— an Hotel Appendix, and Specialties of European Cities. Completely revised and 
corrected Jtp to date. Handsomely bound in two volumes, in red morocco, gilt edges. 
Price, $5.00. 



Appletons' General Guide 



TO THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA. An entirely new work. With a Rail- 
road Map of the United States and Canada, and Thirteen Sectional Maps, including " 1 he 
Adirondacks," " Yosemite Valley," and " Yellowstone Park " ; and Plans (with References) 
of Fourteen of the Principal Cities — especially prepared for the work. Illustrated. This 
work is compiled on the plan of the famous Baedeker Hand-books of Europe. Com- 
plete IN One Volume. 500 pages, i6mo, pocket form, bound in roan, price, $2.50; 
or separately : 
THE NEW ENGLAND AND MIDDLE STATES AND CANADA. One vol., 264 pages, i6mo, 

bound in cloth, $1.25. 
THE WESTERN AND SOUTHERN STATES. One vol., 234 pages, i6mo, bound in cloth, $1.25. 
The leading idea which has governed the preparation of the above work has been to combine fullness and precision of informa- 
tion with the utmost attainable economy of space ; to present the information in such a manner as to be most easy of use ; to furnish 
a hand book for the traveler that will supply the place of guides in a land where couriers or professional guides are unknown. All 
the important cities and great routes of travel in the United States and Canada are carefully and minutely descnbed, and also every 
locality which is sufficiently visited for its own sake to entitle it to a place in such a work. 

Appletons' Hand-book of Summer Resorts. 

Illustrated. Large i2mo. Paper cover, 50c. ; cloth, 75c. 

Appletons' Railway Guide. 

Paper cover, 25 cents. Published monthly. Revised and corrected to date. 

Appletons' Dictionary of New York and Vicinity. 

A Guide on a New Plan ; being an alphabetically arranged Index to all Places, Societies, 
Institutions, Amusements, and innumerable matters upon which information is aaily 
needed. With Maps of New York and Vicinity. Square i2mo. Paper, 30c. ; cloth, 50c. 

New York Illustrated. 

With 102 Illustrations and a Map of the City. The illustrations and text fully delineating 
the Elevated Railway system, Post-Office, and other Public Buildings, Churches, Street 
Scenes, Suburbs, etc., etc. 4to. Paper cover, price, 60 cents. 

Scenery of the Pacific Railways and Colorado. 

With Maps, and 71 Illustrations. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Appletons' Hand-book of American Cities. 

Large i2mo. Illustrated. Paper cover, 50 cents ; cloth, 75 cents. 

Appletons' Hand-book of Winter Resorts. 

For Tourists and Invalids. With 47 Illustrations. Paper cover, 50 cts. ; cloth, 75 cts. 

* ^ Either of the above sent by mail, post-paid, to any address in the United States, on receipt 0/ the price. 

D. AFFLZTON & CJ., Fublishers, 1, 3, & 6 Fond Street, New York. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



Delaware & Hisoi Canal Co.'s R. R. 

Northern R. R. Department. 

THE NEW YORK and MONTREAL SHORT LINE. 

THE MOST DIRECT ROUTE TO THE 

Adirondacks, Ausable Chasm, Lake Champlain, 

SARATOGA, and LAKE GEORGE. 

"WagTier Drawing-room and Sleeping Cars run 
through between New York, Saratoga, and Montreal; 
Pullman Palace Sleeping Cars between Albany and 
the West, via Binghatnton. 

THE ONLY ROUTE to Sharon Springs, Coopers- 
town, Howes Cave, and Susquehanna Valley. 

ASK FOR TICKETS via THIS ROUTE. 

On sale at all the Principal Ticket-Offices in the United 
States. 

A copy of the " Summer Tourist," descriptive of the 
Noted Resorts on this Line, mailed free upon application. 

JOS. ANGi,LL, Gen. Passenger Agt., 

ALBANY, NEW YORK 

OUT-DOOR GAMES FOR ALL. 



BAT AND TRAP. 

As here represented, the 

3 necessary to play this 

are 07ie bat, one ball, 

\e trap. Any number 

persons can engage in the 

from one to five on a 

d it can be played by 

I nd gentlemen, or girls 

1 ys. It can be played 

m the lawn, meadow, 

>r any place where 

ase-ball, lawn tennis, 

or croquet are 

1 1 yed. The 

ind need 

1 t be smooth 




as for croquet. It is very fliscinating, and has as 
much variety as any other popular game. Rules ac- 
company each game, and they are easily learned. 

Send for lists of our Lawn Tennis. 

OEANGE JUDD CO., 245 Broadway, New York.. 



THE 



GREAT LAKE ROUTE. 



Lake Superior Transit Company. 



Buffalo, Erie, Cleveland, Detroit, and Port 
Huron, to Sault Ste. Marie, Marquette, Hough- 
ton, Hancock, Bayfield, Ashland, and Duluth, 
connecting at Duluth with St. Paul & Duluth 
and Northern Pacific Railroads. 

Ten magnificent steamers, unequaled in size 
and elegance of appointment, are now running 
in this service. 

For Time-tables, Illustrated Tourist Guides, 
and other information, address 

T. P. CARPENTEI\, 

Oen. Pansenger Agt., 
Atlantic Dock, Buffalo, N. Y. 




SPOOL COTTON 



^ 



WH1TE,BLACK&ALLC0L0RS: 

AN EXCELLENT SIBSTITITE FOR SILK. 



WM. HENRY SMITH Sl CO., 

82 <& 84 Worth Street, 

NEW YORK. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



CHARLIER INSTITUTE, 

FOR BOYS AND YOUNG GENTLEMEN, 
108 WEST FIFTY-NINTH STREET, 

(Opposite Central Park, New York City). 




The Advantages claimed for 
tills School are: 

J. Its location, equaled by 
none in New York 
City. 

2. A new building, erected 

purposely, with as 
perfect ventilation 
and accommodations 
as science can malce 
them to-day. 

3. An experience of Thirty 

Years. 

4. Experienced Teachers-, 

and a course of stud- 
ies preparing pupils 
for 

College, Business, 
West Point, 
Naval Academy, 

OR ANT 

Scientific School 

IN THE UNITED STATES 
OR ABROAD. 

5. There is a special de- 

partment for youths 
wjho desire to go to 
college, and wish to 
learn Latin and Greek 
rapidly. Special pre- 
paration for Har- 
vard, Yale, Columbia, 
Princeton, etc. 

6. Modern Languages, es- 

pecially French, Ger- 
man, and Spanish, 
are taught by native 
teachers, and spoken 
with them. 



For testimonials, details, terms, ete., send for a J'rospeetus of the Seliool. 



Professor ELIE CHARLIER, Director. 



The twenty-sixth School Year begins Septonbcr 20, 1S80. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



VULCANIZED RUBBER FABRICS, 

Adapted to Uleehanical I'urposes. Rubber Seltiny and I'ackinff. 



Machine Belting, 
Steam Packing, 
Leading Hose, 
Suction Hcse, 
Grain-Elevator Belting, 
Steam Hose, 
Fistcn-Bod Packing, 
Gaskets and Rings. 




Vacuum-Pump Valves, 
Ball Valves, 
Car Springs, 
Wagon Springs, 
Gas Tubing, 
Machine Belting, 
Wringer Bolls, 
Billiard Cushions, 
Grain-Drill Tubes, 
Emery Wheels. 



This company manufactured the immense DRIVING and EL,EVATOR BELTS for the BUCKINGHAM ELE- 
VATORS at Chicago, which have be.-n rinninfr perfectly for more than twelve years; also those for ARMOUR, 
DOLE »fc CO., Chicago, and VANDERBTLT'S GREAT ELEVATORS of the New York Central and 
Hudson River R. R., New York, being the largest belts in the world! We are now making an Elevator Belt 36 
inches wide and 2,o00 feet in length, which will weiprh over IS.i 00 pounds. 

Circular woven, seamless antiseptic Rubber- Lim-fi " Cable" Hose and " TeH" Hose, Vulcanized Para Rubber and tarbohzed 
Duck, for the uso of steam and hand Fire-Engines, Force- Pumps, Mills, Factories, Steamers, Ships, Hospitals, etc. 

ORIGINAL SOLID VULCANITE EMERY WHEELS. 

(Large Wheels made on Cast- L on Center ff desired.) 

The properties of these Wheels are such that they can be used with great advantage and economy for cutting, grinding, and 
finishing Wrought and Cast Iron, Chilled Iron, Hardened Steel. Slate, Marble, Glass, etc. These Wheels are e.xtensively used by 
manufacturers of hardware, cutlery, edge-tools, plows, safes, stoves, fire-arms, wagon-springs, axles, skates, agricultural imple- 
ments, and small machinery of almost every description. 

PATENT ELASTIC RUBBER-BACK SQUARE PACKING. 

Best in the World. For Packing the Piston Rods an I Valve Stems of Steam Engines and Pumps. 

Corrugated Rubber Mats and Mattmg, for Halls, Flooring, Stone and Iron Stairways, etc, etc. 

NEW YORK BELTING AND PACKING CO., 

Warehouse, 37 atul 38 Park Mow, New York, 
JOHN H. CHEEVER. Treasurer. 

WHERE AJiD HOW TO SHOP IJV JYEW YORK. 




IMPORTERS AND MANUFACTURERS OF 

FANCY DRY GOODS, 

BROADWAY and EIGHTH STREET. 

FIVE IMMENSE FliOORS DIVIDED INTO "40 DISTINCT DEPARTMENTS." 

PRICES LOWEST IN THE CITY. 

Fresh Importations daily of Rich Jeivelry, Fans, Leather Goods, etc. 

NOVELTIES IN SILKS, SATINS, VELVETS, BEOaA"^ES. 

BLACK DRESS SILKS A SPECIALTY, TOR OVER 25 TEARS. 

MILLINERY GOODS OF LATEST STYLES. 

Great Bargains in Laces and Made-up Laces. 

Orders by Mail to any part of U. S. or Canada. 1 Goods forwarded C. O. D., if desired. 

Money by P. O. Order, Re?. Letter, or Draft on New York. | Sprin? Catalogue and Samples forwarded on application. 

HOW TO REACH US This establishment can be reached bv the followinf numerous conveyances: All lines of Stages 

pass the door; the Crosptown Cars, from 10th St., East River, to Christopher Street. North River, pass the door; Broadway, Lex- 
ington, Third, and Fourth Ave. Cars pass within one block; Third and hixth \ve Elevated Railroad Stations at Eighth St.; cus- 
tomers from Grand Central Depot, New Jersey, Long Island, and Staten Island, are brought by the above different conveyances to 
our door. 

DANIELL 8l SON, 

Broadway and Eighth St. (Block below Stewart's), N. Y. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



THE MASSASOIT HOUSE. 

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 

M. & E. S. CHAPIN, Proprietors. 



The Massasoit House, near the Railroad Stations, was established in 1843. It has been twice enlarged, 
making it three times its original size, and thoroughly remodeled and refurnished. The large, airy sleeping- 
rooms, furnished with hot and cold water, are excelled by none in the country. Special attention paid to 
ventilation and all sanitary improvements. The proprietors are determined that the world-wide reputation 
of the Massasoit shall be maintained in all respects. 



THE HYGEIA HOTEL, 

OLD POINT COMFORT, VA. 

Situated 100 yards from Fortress Monroe, at the confluerce of the Chesapeake Bay and Uampton Roads, being the 
first point of land lying westward between the Capes of \irgiida. about fitteen miles uorth of Norfolk and Portsmouth; 
all pas-^enger-steamers runuing to and from those cities touch at the pier, coiiig and returiiine, with the United States 
mails, landmg only twenty ro 8 from the Hotel, which is substantially built and comfortably furnished. Has hydraulic 
passenger elevator, gas and electric bells in all rooms; water, rooms for bath (incliding hot sea), and closets on every 
floor, with the most perfect system of drainasre of any Hotel or public building in the country; and as a resoit for the 
pleas'ure-seeker, invalid, or restin -place for tourists on their way to Florida or the Norih. SevL-n hundred j;uests pre- 
sent inducements which certainly are not equaled elsewhere as a summer resort or cold weather sanitarium, the invigo- 
rating atmosDhere and mild temperature being especially adapted to that chis ^ who seek the irenial winters of th*^ South 
and cool suihmers of the North. For sleeplessness and nervousness, the delicious tonic of the pure ocean air, and the 
lullaby of the ocean waves rolling upon the sandy beach but a few feet from the bedroom windows, are most healthful 
soporifics at the Hygeia. 

For further information, address, by mail or telegraph, 

H. PHCEBUS, Proprietor. 



. Xa.O"0-XSi 3E3E€>"3E"3ES3L.^ 

ST. LOUIS STREET, QUEBEC. 

This Hotel, which is unrivaled for size, style, and locality in Quebec, is open throughout the year, for pleasure and 
business travel. It is eligibly situated near to, and surrounded by, the most deligbtlul and fashionable promenades— 
the Governor's Garden, the Citadel, the Esplanade, the Place d'Armcs, and Durham Terrace— which furnish the splendid 
views and magnificent scenery for which Quebec is so justly celebrated, and which is unsurpassed in any part of the world. 

To Durham Terrace has been added what will be called Dufferin Terrace, an extension oi fourteen hundred feet. 
with an average width of eiqhty J\et, to a point directly under the flag-staff of the Citadel, with steps leading from 
the Terrace uplo the inclosui-e of the Citadel, thus forming one of the finest promenades iu the worid, and being two 
hundred and fifty feet above the river. . ^ . , ., -u,- .u .. 

The Proprietors, iu returning thanks for the very hberal patronage they have hitherto enjoyed, inform the public that 
this Hotel has been thoroughly renovated and embellished. anA can now accommodate about five hundred visitors ; and 
assure tnem that nothing will be wanting on their part that will conduce to the comlort and etijoymeni of their guests. 



THE RUSSELL HOTEL COMPANY, 

PROPRIETORS. 



WILLIS RUSSELL, President. 



"TR AVERS'" AMERICAN HAMMOCK. 




Patented July 29, 1879. 

New Styl.': Perfection in Shape; Beauty and Strength; 
Brass Mounted; Cardinal Binding. 

TESTED TO BEAR OVER 1,000 lbs. 

Sample, $3.fl0. Postage, 50 cents. 

Suitable for the Piazza, Camp, Grove, etc. 

Discount to Camp-Meetings, Clubs, Picnics, etc. 

-A-G-EKFTS "W^A-nSTTEID. 

Twine House established 1845. 

J. P. TEAVERS & SON, 

46 Seektnan Street, y. T. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



CHEAPEST! BEST! MOST DURABLE! 




" The most general imitation of an article is the surest sign that it meets the approval of the 
public, and contains merits which are sure to make it succeed." 

During the past two years imitations of our hammocks have sprung up in various sections of 
the country like mushrooms, and, on account of the reputation established by the Union Web, 
some dealers have succeeded in palming otf an inferior hammock, which, excepting a slight 
resemblance in appearance, are in no way like the original. The meshes of all our hammocks 
are quite small, not exceeding 2| inches the longest way, giving a strength not attainable in a 
hammock made witli larger openings, while all the grades except the BB have "Union Web, 
Gloucester, Mass.," on one side of the fastenings, and on the reverse, "Patented July 16, 1878." 
Every hammock so designated is warranted, and as our reputation is staked on the success of 
these gooods, we are anxious that the public should know how to distinguish between the Union 
Web and the poor imitations made by those who are striving to profit by its reputation for excel- 
lence now so firmly established. 

UNION HAMMOCK CO., Manufacturers, 

Illustrated descriptive catalogue sent to any address. GLOUCESTER, MASS. 



CUIO 



LINE. 



United States Mail Steamers. 



ARIZONA 5,500 Tons. 

WYOjMING 3,716 " 

NEVADA 3,350 *' 



WISCONSIN 3,720 Tons. 

ALASKA (Building) 5,500 " 

OREGON " 3,500 " 



The.-c Steamers are built of iron, in water-tight compartments, and are furnished with every renuisite 
to make the passage across the Atlantic both safe and agreeable, having Bath-room, Smoking-room, Drawing- 
room, Piano, and Library ; also experienced Surgeon, Stewardess, and Caterer, on each Steamer. 

The State-rooms are all on Upper Dack, thus insuring those greatest of all lux- 
uries at sea, perfect Ventilation and Light. 

SAILING FROM 

NEW YORK EVERY TUESDAY. 

LIVERPOOL EVERY SATURDAY. 



For Cabin, Intermediate, or Steerasje Passage at Lowest Rates, apply to Guion & Co., 25 Water Street, 
Liverpool, or 5 Waterloo Place, Pall Mall, Lo-ulon ; J. M. CuRrsiK, Paris and Havre; Wm. Langtry, Belfast; 
D. R. Dawson, Dundee ; Jas. Scott & Co., Queenstown ; .J. S. Bahshaw, Manchester ; Williams & Guion, 
New York ; also to authorized agents in all the principal cities in the United States. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 



DUNCAN A. GRANT, 

879 BROADWAY, 



IMPORTER OF 



jE^ich Passementeries, 

Gimps, Fringes, Buttoi\s, 

Ornaments, Etc., Etc. 

PONGEE AND FRENCH EMBROIDERIES, 



fo:r stjis/lis/lj3:r tjse_ 



Capes, Scarfs, Breakfast-Caps, 

Bows, Fichus, Mantles, 

Handkerchiefs, Fans, Etc, 



Collarettes, Capes, and Caps, made up in the most 

becoming and attractive styles, at 

very Low Prices. 



Is^CA-IXj-OI^IDEI^S I'l^OIv^FTIj'^r -A-TTElSriDEID XO. 



APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK.— ADVERTISEMENTS. 




j^«fl>H^ 



W 



SELTZER 



SELTZER 





TARRANT'S 



EFFERVESCENT 



SELTZER APERIENT. 

This valuable and popular Medicine has universally received the most 

favorable recommendations of the Medical Profession and the 

Public, as the most efficient and agreeable 

SALINE APERIENT. 



IT MAY BB USED WITH THE BEST EFFECT IN 



Bilious and Febrile Diseases, Costiveness, Siek-Headaehe, Nausea, Loss 

of Appetite, Indigestion, Acidity of the Stomach, Torpidity 

of the Liver, Gout, Rheumatic Affections, 



AND ALL COMPLAINTS WHERE 



A GENTLE AND COOLING APERIENT OB PDEGATIVE IS REQUIRED. 

It is particularly adapted to the wants of Travelers by Sea and Land, 
Residents in Hot Climates, Persons of Sedentary Habits, Invalids and 
Convalescents. Captains of Vessels, and Planters, will find it a valuable 
addition to their Medicine-Chests. 

It is in tixe form of a Powder, carefully put up ir\ bottles to keep in any climate, 

and merely requires water poured upon it to produce a 

delightful Effervescent Beverage. 

Numerous testimonials from professional and other gentlemen of the 
highest standing throughout the country, and its steadily increasing pop- 
ularity for a series of years, strongly guarantee its efficacy and valuable 
character, and commend it to the favorable notice of an intelligent public. 



>M>t>: 



SELTZER 




Manufactured only by the Sole Proprietors, 

TARRANT & CO, 

278 Greenwich Street, cor. Warren, N. Y., 

m FOB SALE 6T DBDGGIST8 6ENEBALLT. 



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011 290 582 



